


'Twas The Night The Volvo Died

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 13:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: Well, see, there was the Volvo and gunrunners and the Coast Guard and it's almost Christmas and Jim and Blair are up to their usual shenanigans...oh, and there's this baby buggy too...





	1. 'Twas the Night the Volvo Died

**Author's Note:**

  * For [franscats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/franscats/gifts).



> This story was written for the 2017 Secret Santa story for Franscats. My muse took off on an extended vacation right after Christmas, so part two was finished. Fast forward a few...months (try seven) and the muse walked in as if he'd never been gone. The jerk. Tan too. But I was finally able to get back to answering the great question of how the Volvo met its end, and what the heck a baby buggy had to do with it. Gotta tell ya, Simon was pretty angry with me too, since he was left hanging along with Franscats and the few others who read part one  
> NOTES, THE SEQUEL: I must thank Franscats for her patience and understanding, which went beyond measure considering she's waited almost a year!  
> I must also thank the magnificent Magician/Merlin/Regina because without her, this wouldn't have been finished at all. The woman literally came to my home (brought lots of goodies), sat in my rollator, and literally typed as I dictated the conclusion! Later, she had to walk me through loading at my LJ as it's been so long, I forgot how to do things (it came back, thank God). And she walked me through the AO3 process as the memory of that was also long gone. in an effort to truly thank her, I've immortalized her within the story - have fun finding where. She's already immortalized within the fandom as our "go-to gal" when it comes to where to find stories and who wrote them, but she's now established herself as a great writer as well, so she's now immortalized in someone else's story! Again, have fun finding her.

 

 

 

It was probably 30 degrees outside, thanks no doubt to climate change, yet Jim was sweating the sweat of the Chopek valley. Thank God this was his final trip to the basement - which also meant the final trek up the stairs and out of the basement.

 

By using his elbow to press the 'up' button on the elevator, he managed to keep hold of the last two large - and heaviest - boxes. When the light flicked on, he praised the elevator gods again. They were obviously taking Christmas-pity on him considering the damn thing had been out of order for the last 2 weeks.

_"You know how it is, Detective Ellison. That part's coming all the way from Federico, Illinois."_

In spite of the fact he was pretty certain the state of Illinois had never been graced with a city called Federico, the part had arrived. Although it was far more likely that Simms, the building's resident handyman/janitor, had finally removed his ass from his lounger to do the tweaking their aging elevator required every now and then.

As the door thankfully slid open, Jim couldn't have cared less whether the part had been sitting on a shelf in a non-existent city in Illinois or their sometimes-lazy janitor had simply done his job. Today, when he needed it, it was working.

As the elevator started its journey up to the third floor, Jim figured his elbow had been getting as much of a workout in the last 3 hours as had his whole body.

Once inside the loft, he set his load down next to the other seven. Stepping back, Jim used his shirt sleeve to wipe his brow while trying to figure out how he, Jim Ellison, had nine boxes of decorations.

Of course, the answer was simple; he didn't. Okay, that was a lie. They were his as much as Sandburg's now that they were 'partners in all things'. Jim couldn't help but smile at that because he really liked the 'all things' part. Two whole years of the ‘all things’ part.

Okay, enough of that. What he needed to do was get the boxes open, the contents organized the 'Ellison way', and everything would be ready for decorating. But first...he slipped his phone out of his back pocket, flipped it open, pressed '2', and waited for Simon to answer.

_"Banks."_

"As promised, free pizza and all the beer you can drink, so get over here now. I'm not doing this whole decorating thing alone."

_"That sounded suspiciously like an order, Detective Ellison."_

"Did you miss the free pizza and all the beer you can drink part?" Jim counted to three before adding, "Sir?"

_"Right. On my way. Just keep in mind, I'm the director type - I sit and direct."_

"I think you mean... Sir...that you sit, drink my beer, eat my pizza, and point."

_"You're so close to the edge, that if it weren't the holiday season and if I weren't in such a generous and giving mood...."_

Simon didn't have to finish the sentence because they both knew that Jim knew that Simon knew that Jim knew... Jim stopped. That was too much 'knowing' about how much he and Simon knew - without a beer, let alone opening the first box and watching its red and green guts spill out. Giving himself a little shake, he said, "See you in a few." Then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "Don't forget the beer - Sir."

Before Simon had a chance to shoot back a witty retort, Jim snapped his phone shut. He then immediately snapped it back open and started to press '6' - speed dial for Emilio's New York Pizza - best in the city and another holiday tradition for the last...

No, it couldn't be.

Jim dropped down on the couch, the air whooshing out of him. "My God, has it really been five years?" he asked the six-foot blue spruce in the corner.

It wasn't a decorated Christmas tree and therefore completely silent. Not that a decorated tree would have answered either, and not that speaking or non-speaking trees mattered, because of course they didn’t. Besides, Jim knew the answer.

Yes, it'd been five years since Blair's _"Just two weeks, man"_ back in early '96. He grinned as he remembered how, when the holiday season rolled around, Jim had discovered his roommate of nine months - give or take - had 'traditions' - and they weren't restricted to the celebration of Hanukkah. Oh no, Blair Sandburg wasn't satisfied with one holiday, he had to embrace all of them, hence their holiday traditions had been born. Jim absentmindedly rubbed his cell phone with his thumb as his mind replayed that first Hanukkah and Christmas.

Hanukkah had fallen on the 23rd that year so while they were in the middle of the madhouse that was Christmas, he was able to enjoy the incredible beauty and serenity that represented Hanukkah with Blair. By some miracle, seeing the joy and love his partner gave each of those first two holidays... yeah, he'd been a goner, all right. And now the whole holiday season had taken on a different glow since he and Sandburg had finally removed the blinders and admitted their true feelings two years ago.

Sandburg would no doubt consider this year an anniversary worth celebrating - their second official Christmas as a couple - but then, everything was now an anniversary for Sandburg. Hell, the first time they'd collared a bad guy; five days after declaring their love and consummating it - and had he really just thought those words, _"...declaring their love and consummating it"?_

He had.

His years with Sandburg were starting to show in his language choices. Where was he? Oh yeah... that had gained the status of an anniversary. And of course, the first time he'd told him to stay put even though, at the time, Blair was his official partner and a full-fledged member of the department, was an anniversary, but only because the previous night had been **the** night. No, not their first time, just their first time upstairs.

All right, enough with the anniversaries and traditions. He started to pick the phone back up... but then he thought of one tradition he actually enjoyed, had been enjoying since that first holiday season. He called it, "The Good Fight". The fact that this tradition wasn't restricted to the holidays meant nothing other than it represented "The Joys of Living with Sandburg".

"The Good Fight" represented more than him saying no to something Sandburg wanted, it was the fun of making Sandburg work for it, because he knew he'd eventually say yes - in other words - lose. But there was no time of the year he enjoyed it more than now.

Actually, it was more of a dance nowadays then a fight. He'd danced around with the _"No way, Sandburg!"_ while Blair danced around him, gradually leading him to the grudgingly given, _"Fine, have it your way, Chief."_

The first year, the fight had been real, but Jim had to admit its death had come fairly early in December. He'd found himself succumbing to the cuteness - God forbid Sandburg should ever hear him use that word in relation to him - that was Blair when dragging out Santas, reindeers, and enough garland to trim Texas. He grinned again as he remembered how, at the sight of that first reindeer, it'd been one solid hour of, _"No way, Sandburg, not in my home"_ and, _"There's no way a reindeer's going out on that balcony - and what do you mean it lights up everywhere?"_

That was followed by his personal favorite; _"Sandburg, you get that goddamn elf off my bedroom railing or so help me, I'll drop kick both of you from here to the Marina!"_

In retrospect, he had to admit it'd been Blair's responses to his threats every year that led to his enjoyment at losing the Good Fight. His partner had two primary acknowledgments, but Jim's favorite fell under the category of a possible Christmas miracle as Blair managed to say it all without taking a breath. And while a word might have changed here and there over the years, its essence remained the same.

_"Don't be the Grinch that stole Christmas Jim and the reindeer isn't that big and it doesn't light up everywhere and for crying out loud leave the elf alone after all what did he ever do to you, man? And I don't like the way you're twisting that garland like maybe you're going to use it as a weapon like around my neck or something, man that would be so uncool especially at this time of year besides then you'd have Mom down on you and Simon wouldn't be too happy either because even though he's not too fond of me your senses would go out of whack and he'd be down his best detective Jim hello Jim why are you looking at me like that man Jim Jim I don't like that or maybe I do or are you zoning man cuz if you're zoning I'm going to leave you that way until I'm done...."_

At that point, he'd be forced to let his voice trail off because he'd barely have one left and certainly no oxygen. But that wasn't the only response that could take the fight out of Jim. No, the other one; the one he could now admit openly - with no weird feeling in the pit of his stomach - had been the closer. It was also, he suspected, the response Blair had known all along worked the best; had been _designed_ to work; and the one Blair used more often than any other.

It was simplicity in its purest form.

_"Aww, Jim...."_

Yes, simple. But Blair's blue eyes would grow impossibly large and dark, with depths inviting so much, but which took Jim so long to finally see - and recognize. A joke on him, considering he was a sentinel.

But, somehow, Jim had always managed to avert his gaze and gather his senses enough to fight back just a bit more, usually with the same words he'd used that first year; _"No Sandburg, no decorations, no tree - not a single sprig of holly. Besides, you're Jewish."_

That's when Sandburg would remind him, as he'd done that first year, that he was everything, celebrated everything, and, _“…if the world would only do the same, they'd truly know peace on Earth.”_

Who could argue with that? Jim - for a bit longer - before giving in like a gentleman, which, that first year, had meant storming up the stairs, going over to the closet door he didn't have, and slamming it. The slam was represented by throwing a paperback (Louis L'Amour) against the wall. In his defense, he'd never thrown the book, except that one that had already been murdered - by Sandburg.

Okay, maybe ‘murder’ was too strong a word… and just maybe he’d been responsible? If he remembered correctly, Sandburg had been making a big pot of Jim’s favorite stew and had seen the book on the counter where Jim had left it that morning. Curious about Jim’s sudden change in reading habits - from Clive Cussler, Robert Ludlum and Tom Clancy, to an author who wrote westerns, excellent westerns, to be sure, but still…so he’d picked it up in one hand, while stirring the stew with the other.

It was at that precise moment that Jim, who’d been visiting with his brother, arrived home earlier than expected and, in trying to be funny, had said something like, _”Stick ‘em up!”_ Evidently, he was less funny and more… surprising… which was why the book and spoon went flying.

Poor Louis L'Amour ended up in the stew pot, while the spoon, being lighter, flew farther and ended up on the living room floor.

So, Louis L'Amour Beef Stew.

Yummy.

And yes, he’d tried to save the book; after all, it _was_ Hondo. But it had been a lost cause, hence he’d thrown the wrinkled mess.

So yes, he'd put up the good fight and, yes, that year he’d lost – as he’d ultimately done every year since, and every year since, the loft ended up with a tree, a menorah (when the two holidays intersected) and decorations from the top of his bedroom to the closet in Sandburg's hobbit-bedroom (now a study/exercise room).

Jim always found himself considering the idea of selling tickets, figuring he could make a fortune permitting people to traipse through his home while ogling at Cascade's version of the North Pole.

His smile dimmed slightly.

This was the first year he'd be decorating sans Sandburg, but there was no way it wasn't going to get done. Both he and Simon had agreed there was no way they'd bring Sandburg home from the hospital _without_ the loft looking the way it should - the way it would have long before now, if not for a major counterfeiting ring.

* * *

  
The brains behind the outfit, Noland Carmichael, had decided things were heating up in Los Angeles, in more ways than the, _"...eighty-three and sunny...."_ so, with Treasury agents nipping at his heels, he'd bugged out. And lucky Cascade, he'd chosen them as his new base of operations. Oh joy, but not to the world and most definitely not to Major Crime.

Normally counterfeiting wouldn't have come even close to their doorstep, but when the mayor's son passed five fake twenties, Major Crime had quickly found themselves working hand-in-hand with four Treasury agents. Blair'd been thrilled because Jim had proven his senses to be invaluable during a similar case a few years back. He could instantly tell whether a bill was legit with just one swipe of a finger across its face. Of course, it wasn't just his sense of touch; he could spot a fake across the room, and even his sense of smell could work toward finding counterfeit money. Jim hadn't been so thrilled, because they'd be working with the Secret Service. Men who were a little harder to fool.

Looking back on it now, he could say no problem, they'd done it. But it'd taken every member of the team to make sure the agents hadn't tripped to the fact that Jim was special. Tracking down the fake bills that were spreading fast across the city have been the easy part, but finding where they were printing them? That turned out to be a bit more difficult and was the reason behind a stark loft so late in December.

The bills were really wreaking havoc with the economics of the city, especially since it was the height of the shopping season, so the pressure to find their location, the printing press and templates had built exponentially. Oddly enough, it hadn't been Jim senses that gave them the break they'd needed. No, that had been Blair.

Everyone had been standing in Simon's conference room, detectives squared off against the agents as they argued in front of the huge map of Cascade. Blair'd been the only quiet one, standing thoughtfully between the rest of them and the map, studying it hard. His next words broke the case.

"There's no way Ji-we can't find this place. If it's in the city, he--we'd--have found it. That means it's not in the city and that just leaves... the water."

Every head in the room turned to stare at him, at which time he added, "They've got to be on the water, guys."

And just like that - although he didn't know it yet - Noland Carmichael and his counterfeiting ring were about to become history.

Oh, sure, Blair's pronouncement had started even louder talking, with everyone gathering around the map and shooting questions at poor Sandburg. But he stayed his course - pun intended - and insisted it was the only way Carmichael could have eluded them. He'd come darn close to saying, _"...eluded Jim..."_ but at the last minute had managed to make the switch.

Once his premise had been accepted, the next step had been finding the ship, which proved remarkably easy, again thanks to Sandburg. While the rest of them had been arguing amongst themselves, he'd quietly gone to his laptop and the Port of Cascade's Marine Report website.

Once there, he'd quickly discovered there were a little over three hundred ships in port and, after checking "Recent Arrivals" that matched the dates Carmichael left LA and the first bad bill had shown up in Cascade, he'd found no ship that _"fit the bill"_ \- Sandburg's bad pun at the time, not his.

So, Blair had simply slipped into an area within the Port Authority site he didn't have authority to 'slip into'. But even for the agents, it'd have taken precious time, especially since Adam Clark, Executive Director of the PA, hated the mayor. So, with normal channels being out of the question, naturally, Sandburg took his own version of a shortcut; one that worked.

He'd quickly discovered that one ship, the Queen's Lady, had been rented and was sitting exactly 12.5 miles off their coastline, meaning they were in international waters, thus just outside everyone's jurisdiction. With a little more investigative work on Sandburg's part, he'd been able to confirm the Queen's Lady's was being rented by a shell company that could be traced directly back to Carmichael.

From that point on, the issue had been finding a way to close them down by catching them in the act and somehow getting the ship out of international waters. Megan had been quick to point out it should be fairly easy to catch them when transferring the "queer lobsters" from the ship to shore - and yes, it'd been Blair who'd quickly piped up with, _"Queer equals fake and 'lobsters' is Aussie slang for twenty-dollar bills"_ \- without even looking up as he continued to work at the computer. There were several "ahs" and "ohs" following his explanation, while Megan just grinned.

In spite of a lot of work, brain power and chopper fly-bys (with Jim using his 'super-vision' as Blair had begun to call it), they'd never witnessed a smaller vessel leaving or arriving at the Queen's Lady.

Through process of elimination, some outside-the-box thinking on Megan's part, and a little accidental help from Rafe, they’d come up with the answer. Their counterfeiters were using a one- or two-man submersible.

Rafe's contribution had been the suggestion that scuba diving couriers had to be the answer - until Simon pulled the plug by pointing out what was probably an obvious problem; time. And that's when Megan had mused that perhaps Carmichael was using a Narco Sub.

Narco Subs had become a common method for Colombian drug dealers to get their product to the US, undetected, as they were virtually invisible to both sonar and radar. But they were also bigger and heavier than anything Carmichael needed. That sent Sandburg on another search, this time for a stolen submersible, the thought process being that Carmichael would hardly have had time to build one of his own. And sure enough, he'd found a police report from Palo Alto, California, from the Schmidt Oceanographic Institute, which was missing a two-man submersible. The theft date had occurred five days after Carmichael supposedly closed shop.

Obviously, they didn't want to raise suspicion on board the ship, so they’d commandeered one of the tour choppers flying out of the Cascade Marina - with one change; they’d swapped out the pilot for one of Major Crime’s own, Dave Hawkins, a licensed helicopter pilot. Then, with Simon convincing the treasury agents to join him in trying to discover where, along the coastline, the submersible could be docking, he and Blair were left alone in the chopper with Jim now free to use his senses in finding the submersible during one of its trips.

Of course, that still left the problem of getting the Queen's Lady to move back into jurisdictional waters so the Coast Guard could do their thing and the CPD, in conjunction with the Treasury guys, could close the whole operation down.

The Coast Guard had already been extremely helpful, first by agreeing to a joint operation and then, once the frequency used by the Queen's Lady had been identified, allowing the necessary jamming equipment to be brought on board their Sentinel-class Fast Response Cutter, the "Materling". And no, it had not been lost on any of the Major Crime team that they'd be working onboard a 'sentinel' ship.

The jamming equipment would keep Carmichael from contacting his submersible should he trip to the fact his sub was being followed by the helicopter - but it also offered the opportunity to utilize the frequency to their own benefit.

As Jim sat alone in their home now, he had to admit it'd been a testament to their complete exhaustion combined with the extreme pressure of the investigation, that it had taken the captain of the Materling, John Edwards, to point out they could use the frequency to fool Carmichael into coming in after his sub. The idea was amazingly simple; once they had the submersible, they could send an SOS to the Queen's Lady inferring the sub was in trouble. Then, as soon as the ship was back inside their jurisdiction, the Coast Guard could surround her and, hopefully, seeing he was outnumbered, Carmichael would give in without a shot being fired.

It had taken three days of routinely flying low over the water - two things neither of them enjoyed any longer - before he'd finally spotted the sub on a run to the coast.

While thrilled to have spotted it, they were less than happy when Detective Hawkins informed them he’d kept them out to the limit of their fuel. Which meant they missed the gobsmacked (Blair’s word, not his) expressions on the faces of Carmichael’s two men exiting the submersible and finding themselves completely surrounded by the Coast Guard, the Cascade PD and the Treasury Department.

After that, everything had gone exactly as planned. They sent out the SOS on the two-way radio that the submersible was in trouble and, considering the amount of money they’d found in the sub, there'd been no doubt Carmichael would head in to rescue them. And he did.

Unfortunately, he hadn't given up as quietly as hoped. In spite of the required Coast Guard warnings; firing over the bow of the ship not once or twice, but three times, Carmichael had still tried his damnedest to get back into international waters.

Then, in an action similar to one Jim had taken during their little adventure aboard the Cyclops oil rig, he'd grabbed one the Coast Guard's two 7.62 mm machine guns to quickly and cleanly taken out the engine - if he did say so himself - and he just did.

After that, and before anyone else could be injured, Carmichael's men had started to flee the sinking ship. Not that it was actually sinking, but they were caught like rats... on a sinking ship.

Sandburg would have been so proud of that particular pun/analogy.

* * *

  
Jim allowed himself a rather dramatic sigh because at least the case was really and truly over - not counting having to go to court. But that was at least two or three months in the future, so there was time to breathe and give thanks that Blair was okay and coming home. He still had to decorate; making sure everything looked exactly as it should, including the little surprise upstairs - a duplicate of the tree down here.

Jim glanced up at the bedroom and congratulated himself on purchasing the smaller tree. The decision had really been a no-brainer because when they brought Blair home, it'd be to the upstairs bedroom, where the doctor preferred he stay for most of the first 48 hours.

He knew Blair would complain continually, and try to sneak downstairs as often as possible if Jim couldn't find a way to keep him happy - other than the usual way. But he was pretty certain the junior version of their tree woul do the job. Of course, he could have rearranged the entire bedroom so all Sandburg had to do was turn his head in order to see the living room in all its Christmas glory. But as much as he loved his partner, Jim figured it was a helluva lot easier to just buy a second tree.

Okay, a much smaller version of this Blue Spruce, but still... it was something he knew his partner would love.

Oh, shit, the pizza! He'd spent so much time reminiscing and going over the damn case - and Simon would be here any minute, which meant if pizza wasn't at least on its way, there'd be hell to pay. Jim picked up the phone and finished his call to Emilio's.

* * *

  
Satisfied that everything was ready and the pizza on its way, Jim found his gaze going back to the beautiful tree by the window in the corner of the living room. He knew his partner had already done his Christmas shopping and the presents were probably already wrapped; Jim just didn't know where Blair had hidden them.

 

 

 

Over the years, Sandburg had certainly discovered that trying to hide his gifts for Jim was near impossible, thanks to his senses. He may not have X-ray vision, but between his sense of smell and touch, as well as hearing (like shaking a gift as he’d done as a child), well, it was amazing how easily he could figure out what was hidden under all the wrapping paper.

So, three years ago, Sandburg had started hiding Jim's presents, and not in the loft or in the Volvo. No, he'd started asking others to keep them for him, or hid them at the University. Well, at least before all hell had broken loose following a certain press conference.

Jim's few boxed gifts for Blair were here in the apartment and, when he and Simon finished, they'd go under the tree. But there'd only be a couple, plus the gifts they'd purchased for their friends... which left the tree upstairs.

Mmm, he mused, what could he do for his Jewish- Christian-Wiccan-whatever partner who was still a kid at Christmas? What could he put under the upstairs tree so, even after being decorated, it wouldn't look so barren ....

Jim's grin returned, wider than before. Toys.

Toys were just the answer. They'd also solve the annual, _"Just one present, man! It's Christmas Eve!"_ whine. Besides, Blair never could stop at just one, which meant all Jim had to look forward to on Christmas morning was a tree with no presents beneath it - and Blair's cinnamon rolls.

One out of two wasn't bad, but maybe this year he could make it two out of two and, for once, they'd have a real Christmas morning.

If he had a different personality he might, at that moment, be rubbing his hands together while snickering gleefully. Instead, he just kept smiling - until he heard Simon's arrival downstairs, right on the heels of the odor from his cigar.

He waited for the pause that would signify Simon's removal of said cigar from between his teeth... then placing it carefully into the building's ashtray beside the elevator doors (he'd retrieve it when he left, as usual), and finally the sound of the elevator doors sliding open...and closing... its movement up to the third floor....

Jim counted to ten before saying, "It's unlocked, Simon."

* * *

  
"I can't believe you have nine boxes of decorations."

"That's funny, I had the same conversation with the tree earlier today," Jim said wryly.

Simon put his empty beer bottle down on the counter. "Talk to the tree much, do you?"

"It's not quite the conversationalist Sandburg is, but in his absence...."

Leaning back against the counter, Simon crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his head to the right and, with a humorous expression on his face, said, "Damn, you really miss Motor-mouth, don't you?"

Tossing the dirty paper plates – remnants of their pizza dinner - into the red recycle bin under the sink and the empty bottles in the blue one, Jim asked, "And I suppose you don't?"

"About as much as discovering my dog has fleas and just transferred them to me," Simon shot back.

"Sandburg's a flea now?"

"I don't know why I get into a tug of words with you any longer. In the old days, it was easy, but now--"

"Now you lose every time," Jim finished for him. "I think it's only fair since I'm always losing to Sandburg."

"Yeah, but the problem is; I lose to Sandburg too, so now I'm not only losing to him, but you as well. That puts me at a distinct disadvantage as the boss."

"Oh, I don't know... you're still taller so could fall back on the old threat of stepping on him."

Before Simon could decide how best to respond, he remembered he really wanted another beer. Indicating the fridge, he asked, "Another one?"

"Oops, can't have the boss beer-less in the face of the work ahead, can we? But at least you’re no longer starving.” Making a motion of scratching his head, he asked, “Just how many pieces did you have, anyway?"

“Only five—“

“Seven,” Jim corrected with a knowing smile.

“Five, seven, who’s counting… besides you?” He gave a rather pointed glance at the boxes. “A man needs his strength.”

Jim jerked his thumb at the nine boxes, grabbed two more beers out of the fridge, tossed one to Simon, who deftly caught it, then said, “Speaking of strength, it’s time to get to work. We’ve had food, we’ve got more beer, so let’s get this done.”

"Would that be 'done' as in this beer, or 'done' as in those boxes?"

"Done as in the battle of words, the beer, and at least lifting the lids off nine boxes."

Laughing, Simon leaned over and tapped his bottle against Jim's. "Deal."

* * *

  
The empty boxes were stacked against the wall; their contents organized "Jim-style". Tree ornaments were laid out by size and type; large balls first and then moving down in size as the decorating would move up the tree. The lights were in neat, tidy circular piles, ready to go on before anything else. Decorations for the kitchen and 'dining room' were on the dining room table, and on the coffee table sat the living room decorations - organized by type, size and eventual location.

What Jim considered to be extraneous decorations, like wreaths and garland, were stacked on the first two steps of the stairs.

In the middle of the living room stood Simon, hands on hips as he stared at the organized chaos surrounding him. "It's been two hours," he said in disbelief. He held up two fingers. "Two hours, Jim."

"If you're trying to tell me something, just spit it out," Jim said from where he stood by the stairs, looking happily at his work. Everything was waiting to be placed in their proper spot and he was supremely satisfied. He'd wanted to do it like this for years. Of course, Blair being in the hospital wasn't how he'd wanted to do it, not by a long shot. But at least this year, there was none of the going from box-to-box, indiscriminately grabbing an item, then standing for several seconds while deciding where it should go before settling on a spot - only to change its destination at the last minute and move it somewhere else.

No, this year he knew exactly where everything would go... mostly because he had photos from last year.

Yep, tonight they'd decorate in an orderly fashion.

"Jim? Did you hear me?"

Tearing his eyes away from the decorations, he looked over at Simon, one eyebrow raised. "I'm a sentinel. You don't think that's an odd question to ask?"

"Hey, I'm not the expert. How do I know you didn't zone or something?"

"Because I didn't? Because I heard you complaining about it taking two hours, asked if you were making a point and you said - and I'm quoting here," he made air quotes, "'Yes, I'm making a point that it took two hours and we haven't done anything.' Which is an incorrect statement because we've done a great deal. We're now ready to decorate."

Jim fished around in his jeans pocket and came up with a coin. "The only thing we have to do now is flip for it."

Clearly puzzled, and with an expression that said Jim had finally slipped over the edge, Simon asked, "Flip for what - and do I really want to know?"

"We flip to decide if we do the tree or loft first. What else?"

"You know, the years with Sandburg have really done a number on you. Maybe we should flip to decide if that's a good or bad thing."

Ignoring him, Jim said, "Heads or tails?"

"Oh, for crying out - all right, tails."

Jim tossed the coin in the air and caught it, but before he could flip and look, Simon gave a little grunt. "Ah, Jim, didn't you forget something?"

Frowning slightly, Jim started to answer, but then realized exactly what he'd forgotten. Looking only slightly sheepish, he kept his hand closed so neither of them could see the result. "Okay, if it's heads we do the tree first, tails and we do the loft--"

"You do realize that it's never been necessary to say the latter half of that whole spiel, right? I mean, once you've determined that one side will represent a certain choice, it's self-evident the other side represents the opposite."

Now it was Jim's turn to look at Simon as if he'd gone over the edge. "And who exactly do you think's been around Sandburg too long... **Sir**?"

It was now Simon's turn to look a little sheepish. "Damn, I did sound like him. That's exactly what he'd have said."

Nodding slightly, Jim then said, with a perfectly straight face, “If it’s heads, I decide, if it’s tails, I decide.”

Simon was just about to nod his agreement when Jim tossed out the grenade. “Oh, and we decorate upstairs too...did I mention there's a tree up there as well?"

With an exasperated shrug and long-suffering sigh, Simon huffed out, "Of course there is." He looked heavenward, sent up a Christmas prayer, closed his eyes, then said, “Go ahead, you look.” But before Jim could open his palm, Simon's eyes popped open as something else hit him. With a thoroughly disgusted look, he said, "Now wait one gosh darned minute. You already know what that coin says, you can feel it."

Looking offended – and equally innocent, Jim asked, "What am I missing here, Simon?"

Making a motion as if knocking on Jim’s head, he answered, "Hello? Detective _Sentinel_? Whether you just open your hand or flip it over, you know exactly what that coin will show when you uncover it."

"Simon, Simon, Simon," Jim said as he gave a sorrowful shake of his head. He placed both hands over his heart as if covering a wound. "I'm hurting here. Truly hurting, and shocked; shocked I say. How could you, my trusted boss; my friend, say such a thing; think such a thing?" Dropping his arms to his side, he smirked… and waited for all the balls to drop. He didn’t have long to wait.

Suddenly Simon's mouth opened - and stayed that way - until Jim walked over and, with his index finger, pushed gently upwards on Simon's chin. "You should be ashamed of yourself… **Sir** …first, for falling for that old heads/tails chestnut, and then thinking I’d cheat. Me, ‘Detective of the Year’ two years running.”

Simon removed Jim's finger from his chin and said, as only a good friend could, "Oh, shut up."

Pocketing the quarter, Jim asked, “Before or after you tell me whether we do the tree or loft first.”

“At this point, I’m voting on the tree… and using you as the tree topper,” Simon said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Jim winced as he reached for the lights.

* * *

  
Simon dropped down onto the couch and with a huff, said, "I can't possibly be getting too old for this, it's just decorating."

Jim handed him another beer before joining him on the couch. "This was decorating the Ellison Way, and trust me, if it had been done the Sandburg Way, you'd be dead to the world and likely to remain so straight through New Year."

He looked around the loft with obvious pride before adding, "This was decorating the organized way--"

"You mean the military way," Simon interrupted, "and trust me, under Sandburg's guidance, we'd have been done hours ago because he'd have simply said, 'Go forth and decorate', instead of your, 'Go forth... with Step A, then B, C, D and--"

"Surely," Jim interrupted, "you're not going to argue about doing it the military way?"

Simon leaned back a little in order to eye Jim with suspicion. "You trying to tell me you're not exhausted?"

Jim considered a Sandburg obfuscation, but while Simon might not be a sentinel, he could always tell when his people were lying to him - and themselves. He gave a shrug that might be construed as a surrender. "Okay, okay, yes, I'll give you...tired; a bit."

After seeing Simon's look, which practically yelled, "Try again, Ellison," he added grudgingly, "Yeah, all right, maybe - just maybe - Sandburg's way might have been, maybe, a little less, I don't know... tiring, maybe?"

"More fun too." Simon couldn't resist that final dig. "And admit it; we're both too young to feel this way - whether doing it your way or his."

With an air of total capitulation, Jim said, "Since honesty is the best policy with the boss - that would be you, your best detective - that would be me, is going to have to say that we're both exactly the age to feel as old as we do right now."

"Okay, enough about how we feel, it's time to get down to brass tacks. We've created Santa's North Pole, and yet the area beneath the tree is completely barren. You do understand the concept of gift-giving, right?"

Suddenly energized at the words ‘gift-giving’, Jim eagerly sat forward, eyes shining with excitement. "I've done all the shopping for everyone, thanks to Sandburg and his list. But more importantly...."

Jumping to his feet all thoughts of being tired completely gone, he rubbed his hands gleefully together and said, "Simon, you're not going to believe what I did. I wasn't sure I could come up with the right gift, **the** gift for Sandburg this year, but I did."

He moved to the tree and, spotting a favorite ornament, started fingering it. His voice took on an almost dream-like quality as he murmured just loud enough for Simon to hear, "Blair gave this to me last year, had it made to order. Did you notice it when we were decorating?"

Simon got to his feet and moved to Jim's side so he could see the ornament in question and, as soon as he did, gasped in appreciation. "My God," he finally said, "is that carving onyx?"

 

 

Fingering it lovingly, Jim nodded, the lump in his throat preventing any chance of speech.

"It's a wolf," Simon said almost reverently. "His spirit animal."  When Jim shot him a shocked look, Simon smiled softly. "Sandburg told me all about your jaguar and his wolf."

"Did he by chance also tell you what went along with this ornament?" Jim finally managed to ask.

"If you mean the rings, yes." Ignoring the new version of shock on Jim's face, Simon headed for the kitchen. As he walked, he continued talking. "Considering everything we went through after the dissertation fiasco, he wanted to make sure there were no more secrets. So, after you two came back from your New Year's holiday a couple years ago, he came into the office and, in the spirit of full disclosure, confided that you two were, for all intents and purposes, married."

He took out the last two bottles of Coors and, holding them between the fingers of his right hand, he grabbed the pizza box with his left and started back toward the tree. "He knew you wouldn't tell me, what with wanting to protect him and all, so he did it for you. I was really stunned by his ring. It was incredible."

Setting the pizza box on the coffee table, which meant moving a stuffed North Pole, red-scarved penguin and a weird-looking Santa on skis aside, he handed off one of the beers before adding, “Although, I haven’t a clue what you’re trying to protect him from, and I'm a detective." He twisted the cap off, took a swig and, after swallowing, added, "Two pieces of pizza left; one with and one without. Want to toss for it?" he finished with a wink.

Neither the wink nor sarcasm were lost on Jim. "You can have the pepperoni." The unopened beer still in his hand, he turned back to the ornament as he said, "So Sandburg and I being 'married' - that doesn't bother you?"

"Should I be insulted that you think it would?" Simon asked, his voice uncharacteristically low.

"Don't worry, I'm not talking about the actual _married_ \- married part. I'm referring to the fact that you now have not only a sentinel and his partner on your team - a secret the whole squad has to keep - but now those same two men are married to each other."

"You know," Simon said thoughtfully, "you gave that speech a lot like Sandburg, meaning I don't think you took a breath either." After sitting back down and reaching for the last slice of pepperoni, he added, "For your sake, I'm glad it's not a question of believing I'm prejudiced."

Turning away from the tree, Jim looked at his boss and, after seeing only complete honesty and understanding in the dark eyes staring back at him, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his ring and slipped it on. Joining Simon on the couch, he held out his hand. "Blair had them made, and yes, he's the one who did the proposing - even got down on one knee, the romantic devil."

The humorous tone in Jim's voice wasn't lost on Simon even as he found himself gazing in wonder at the band. "So, you wear his spirit animal?”

"Yeah. He figured by wearing this, I'd be protected by his spirit animal and of course, as you’ve already seen, he's wearing mine. As for trying to keep it a secret and protecting him...."

He took the cap off his beer, took an extra-long swallow, then said, “About that, Simon... see, he said from the beginning that if I was going to be stupid enough to try to pull off keeping us a secret...well, then he was going to wear his, figuring the only comments he'd get would be on the ring itself and its... let's just say its uniqueness."

"Well, he was certainly right about that. We definitely asked about it; about the material, etc.. We now know a great deal more about a man's Mokume ring--"

"With a meteorite band and a panther carved into the mokume stripe?" Jim finished for him.

 

 

 

Shooting him an exasperated look, Simon continue talking as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Than we probably ever needed - or wanted to know. And of course, not one single detective was in the least bit fooled into thinking it was just a simple new ring." He glanced pointedly at Jim's before finishing. "Every single one of us knew exactly what it meant and kept waiting to see when you'd man up and wear yours."

Jim shook his head in wonder. "Blair told me it would be no big deal; that everyone already knew, but did I listen? No. You'd think by now I'd have learned my lesson."

"Would that lesson be the one where Sandburg's always right?"

"That's the one," Jim acknowledged.

“So, when – exactly - _do_ you wear it?”

Hearing the sharpness in his friend's voice, and while fingering in the ring, he answered, "From now on? All the time.”

Satisfied with the answer, he said, "Okay, so you've got a great ornament, you guys have rings, you're married..." He looked around the loft, "and we've just finished decorating your home, which now looks like Santa Central - and we bring the kid home tomorrow--"

Spirit suddenly back to being uplifted, Jim grinned. "Yeah, I get to bring him home tomorrow where he belongs. And not a minute too soon. You know how he feels about hospitals."

Glancing around Jim and Blair's home, Simon took in everything the two of them had accomplished. The twinkling garland that framed the front door (inside and out) and upstairs railing; the lighted poinsettia wreath on the door (inside and out) and the colored lights surrounding Jim's front windows, and trimming his balcony.

He couldn't help but grin at the very large, very tall, lit-from-within plastic snowman sitting out there, and wishing he could have been here the day Sandburg brought that thing home. He'd have given anything to have seen Jim's expression. Simon let his gaze continue on around the room, taking in the beautiful little wooden reindeers, the whimsical elves, a sleigh full of mini-presents, the candles of so many different shapes and sizes...even the Mr. & Mrs. Claus on the kitchen counter stirring up a bowl of something Christmassy and, of course, the Christmas apron, matching towels and oven mitts for Jim.

Then there was the large, beautiful wreath hanging on their feature wall and the basket of wooden 'snow balls' for the mini-fireplace. And then he thought of everything Jim had done upstairs with decorations that had, in past years, further filled spaces down here. All done for Blair Sandburg, so that when he came home from the hospital...speaking of the hospital....

"Uhm, Jim, you know, you never did tell me exactly how Sandburg was injured in the first place.”

"Mmm, really? Oh, I'm sure I did...."

Simon didn't bother to answer, he just let his eyes do the work for him.

"Okay, so evidently I didn't."

Simon continued to sit quietly, his dark eyes boring into Jim.

"Yes, well, it all started with…. a baby buggy…."

"Did you just say baby buggy? Last time I looked, they don't have baby buggies on Coast Guard cutters, _Detective_ Ellison."

"Yes. Well. See, it kind of happened like this...."

 

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

  
\  
**From Part One:**  
  
" _Did you just say baby buggy? Last time I checked, baby buggies weren't required equipment on Coast Guard Cutters."  
  
"Yes. Well. See, it kind of happened like this..._"  
  
Part 2  
  
Jim chewed at his lower lip while trying to figure out a way to explain Blair's injuries. It should be easy since it'd been…oh, hell, the whole thing had been simple - and complicated - and damn it, if only Blair weren't in the hospital because then he wouldn’t have to explain how he’d ended up in the hospital because of a baby buggy--  
  
"Jim? Ellison? **Jim**!?"  
  
He heard Simon saying his name and thought he'd better free his bottom lip or there'd be blood. Running his tongue over the indentation left by his teeth and, satisfied to find his lip intact, Jim decided he'd better start answering before Simon stroked out.  
  
" **Jim**?"  
  
"I hear you, I'm just trying to... well, this isn't an easy one to ex--"  
  
"I should have asked at the hospital--"  
  
"You did. Sort of. But let's face it, after hearing you had a man down, you were naturally worried-"  
  
"Naturally," Simon added helpfully, if somewhat sarcastically.  
  
"Right. So, when you got to the hospital and heard it wasn't all that serious, as in no blood-gushing-gunshot wounds, you relaxed, naturally--"  
  
"Naturally," Simon interrupted with even more sarcasm before adding, "I hope this 'talking-without-taking-a-breath' thing isn't permanent now that Sandburg’s part of the team?"  
  
Jim offered what Blair called "The Ellison Fake-Out-Smile” and hoped it’d work on Simon. He thought it was a very sincere-looking grin; placating, even. On the other hand, based on Simon’s expression…yeah, fake, forced and obvious. Damn. But then, he never saw the stupid grin, so he’d have to give the point to Sandburg on this one. In the meantime, back to explaining his partner’s injuries. Oy.  
  
"Now Simon, you know you wouldn't have it any other way. I mean Sandburg being in the squad, not the 'not- breathing-part' when we talk."  
  
Simon tilted his head weirdly to the left while looking at Jim with his right eye closed, then reversed everything before he finally opened his eye, straightened his head and said, "You know, before Sandburg, there was a rumor you had a sense of humor, albeit a very dry one, but it was never really proven. But since Sandburg--"  
  
"Surely my sense of humor, BS or AS, isn't worthy of discussion right now...."  
  
Jim let his voice trail off as he realized the mistake in attempting to stop the 'sense of humor' discussion. Because if he'd let it go on, he could avoid the whole Blair-baby-buggy-bumper incident altogether. But judging from Simon's expression - one that clearly agreed this was not the time for a discussion on his sense of humor - it was too late.  
  
Again, with the damn.  
  
As if on cue, Simon switched gears. "Thank you for getting us back to the subject at hand, namely how Blair ended up in the hospital and how on Earth a baby buggy had anything to do with it."  
  
Jim was just about to provide the answers, but apparently Simon wasn't finished.  
  
"And why wasn't the incident in your report? That would certainly have alleviated the obvious discomfort you're now experiencing. It doesn't take a magician to explain a baby buggy, Coast Guard cutter, some drug runners, and Blair ending up in the hospital for three days, which by the way resulted with me helping you decorate this place in such a way that I'm grateful Daryl's in college so I don't have to go through it myself, which begs the question, why _did_ we go through this, all for a man heading toward the age of thirty-five?"  
  
Jim arched an eyebrow and waited, knowing it wouldn't take long for Simon to realize he'd just done the 'talk-without-breathing' thing. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
Simon's eyes widened. "I just did it, didn't I? The whole 'talk-without-breathing' thing?"  
  
Jim nodded and this time, the grin was very real. "Not only that, but I doubt Sandburg would take kindly to being referred to as a guy on the road to thirty-five when he's only one year into his thirties."  
  
Simon gave a little grunt. "Exactly, because that puts him on the road to thirty-five, right?" Before Jim had a chance to agree, Simon must have decided this was the right time for a personal dig as he added rather snidely, "You know, kind of like how _you're_ on the road to forty-five?"  
  
Jim decided to take the high road. "Whatever road _I'm_ on, Simon, you're one lane over and moving faster, which means you're going to get to forty-five before me."  
  
It was just as the words _'before me'_ came out, that Jim thought maybe his version of the high road wasn't quite as high as it could have been, but too late now. He should have known better too, because Blair taught him long ago that there were two rules he needed to learn in the precinct; never poke the bear, and never reverse-dig your boss - especially when trying to avoid an issue. He'd been to figure out the bear was Simon, so he’d just broken both rules.  
  
A moment later, he was proven correct when Simon’s eyes narrowed dangerously, pushing all thoughts of roads, age and bears right out of Jim’s mind. Simon, in a tone normally reserved for major bad guys and the phrase, " _Freeze, sucker,_ " said, " _Detective,_ speaking of reports, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if they’d hit my desk on time, now would we?”  
  
For a split second, he was back in the vat of oil on the Cyclops rig - until he realized he’d just been lobbed a way to keep the baby buggy on the back burner. Trying not to sound smug, he answered smugly, "They weren’t on your desk right away because, after we told you about every minute of our part of the operation by phone and, in way of thanking us for a job well done, your exact words were, '... _head on home, you two. You can do the official report tomorrow_.'"  
  
Now it was Simon's eyebrow doing the march of the arches. Jim supposed he could have manned up at that point by explaining Blair’s injuries, but Simon chose to argue with him, which led him to believe his captain might not be any more eager to hear the facts then he was to tell them.  
  
"Those weren't my exact words at all," Simon huffed out. "What I said was ‘ _Good job, and since I'm certain you haven't purchased my Christmas present yet, get the heck out of there. But I expect to see your reports on my desk by 9 a.m. tomorrow_.’"  
  
Jumping at the chance to lob the ball right back at Simon, Jim offered agreeably, "Why yes, I do believe you're right. Those were much closer to your exact words... in fact, they were your precise words."  
  
"Oh goody," Simon said, the degree of sarcasm upped by about fifty percent. "Now that's settled - could we get back to what happened?" He quickly held up a finger, "And before you start talking about me finding out at the hospital, we both know once I arrived, spotted you and your expression, the two most important questions had been answered; it was Sandburg and he wasn't at death's door."  
  
Jim nodded in a way that hopefully telegraphed both agreeability and that he understood Simon was the alpha and he the beta. He also offered up a little prayer that maybe this was almost over and the whole baby buggy thing could stay hidden forever. He rushed in one more time, close to the net with what he hoped would be his final shot. "Not to mention how I immediately got to my feet and reassured you that Sandburg was fine, that--"  
  
"I was there, remember? We know what I said; we know what you said. What we don't know is what you didn't say, which is what I want to know, which in turn brings us right back to the how." He deliberately took a breath before finishing. "And we can toss in the little matter of why it _wasn't_ in the report you finally left on my desk."  
  
Jim's heart sank. Not only had his shot failed but he was still in the oil vat but with no Sandburg to rescue him. Hey, wasn’t he the Great Sentinel of the City? No, wait, it was ‘Sentinel of the Great City’ - oh, hell, whatever it and he was, he was a damn fine tennis player, so he knocked the ball right back into Simon's court. "Now Sir, why would it be in the report when it happened while we were off duty? As you so eloquently reminded me a moment ago, you'd told us to go home. All right, you told us to go buy your Christmas present, but it amounted to the same thing. And second, the _how_ of Sandburg’s injuries had absolutely nothing to do with the case."  
  
Jim felt all this back and forth was really helping insofar as he'd done a pretty good job of avoiding answering the 'how'. Unfortunately, Simon was not only a determined captain and friend, but also a damn fine tennis player too. The ball was flying over the net straight for him.  
  
"If you think all this back and forth between us is going to help you avoid answering the how of it, guess again, Detective Ellison. Now God dammit, sit down and tell me what happened."  
  
Jim hadn't realized he'd gotten to his feet. So, even as he wondered how Simon had known what he'd been thinking, he glanced around and realized not only was he standing, but he'd moved to the windows. Walking quickly back to the couch, he sat down, shot Simon a "WTF" look and said, "Now I know why you're the captain. How do you do that?" He held up a hand in a stop gesture. "Never mind, don't answer. Probably better if I don't know how you always say what I'm thinking when it comes to trying to explain anything that involves Sandburg.” He was careful to take a breath before adding, "Besides, it's too much like me and Sandburg to be comfortable. Plus, you'll just accuse me of trying to find more ways of avoiding the issue." Jim took another breath – a deep one - and exhaled slowly. It was time to boldly go where no man had gone before. At least he was pretty sure no man had ever gone where he was about to go, but then Sandburg had lived 26 years before moving in with him, so God only knew-- and damn it, he was getting off track again.  
  
"Jim, you're really starting to worry me here. How complicated could this be? It didn't happen on the cutter, it didn't have anything to do with the case, no bad guys involved...and aren't I amazing for gleaning that much information so far?"  
  
That was a rather weak strike and an easy one to lob back, so Jim did. "You don't really want me to answer that, do you? I mean, it was a rhetorical, right?"  
  
The ball landed back on Jim’s side of the net as Simon noted drily, "As rhetorical as yours."

* * *

  
  
Simon rolled his eyes heavenward and thought how life would have been so much simpler if Jim hadn't shown up that morning, almost five long years ago, towing a curly-haired, hippie-wannabe behind him. On the other hand--he never got to the other hand because Jim started to explain. Progress at last.  
  
"Okay, maybe I shouldn't start with the baby buggy--"  
  
No sentence could have made Simon angrier, all things considered. Leaning forward, he said firmly, "Now just one damn minute here. You started the explanation with a baby buggy and you're damn well going to start with baby buggies now or I'm going to baby-buggy you right out that window. Full story and now--no more flim-flam. Stop with your version of table tennis, and no more bantering - or as Sandburg would say, 'witty repartee', not that his repartee is all that witty, because let's face it, if we're going to be honest, you and I do a much better job, and dammit, that isn't the point, which I was veering away from yet again but am back on course. So, Detective Ellison, you're going to tell me what happened, you're going to take breaths, you're going to be clear, concise and succinct, and you're going to start--" He glanced at his watch, did the "5-4-3-2-1" with his fingers and, with the final digit - the not so surprising middle one -said, "Now." He then sat back and waited.  
  
"Gosh, Simon, you really should stop and take a breath every now and then, you know?" Jim couldn't have helped saying it any more than what he said next. "You wouldn't want to be accused of sounding even _more_ like Sandburg, would you?"  
  
When Simon didn't answer, when instead he chose to glare; the deadly one, not the fake deadly one he used when he wasn't really upset but wanted everyone to believe he was, and damn it, now Jim was rambling in his brain.  
  
Enough was enough.  
  
Time to dive into baby buggies, Sandburg and... the Volvo.

* * *

  
  
"All right, Simon, here goes. It started innocently enough, with going to work--"  
  
"Is this where I'm supposed to say something really clever like, 'Jim, you two go to work five out of seven days a week?"  
  
"Ha-ha - not. And it's more like six or seven days a week but that's not important. What’s important is whether you want this story or not."  
  
"You know damn well what I want. Just skip the extraneous information which, by the way, is just another method of stalling."  
  
"No, honestly, this is important to the...you know..." he fumbled as he tried to come up with the right word, then felt like an ass when he said, "You know, the story. Because it _does_ start with how we went to work. See, Sandburg had an errand to run afterwards, probably Christmas shopping, but that meant taking separate cars, so I was in mine and he was in his--"  
  
"That's what taking separate cars means, Jim. And I thought you were going to stop the extraneous information?"  
  
"Sorry, sorry. But I need to insert something that might seem obvious, but then again - not. For instance, once we got to work and jumped in on the gun-runners operation, we continued taking separate cars."  
  
"All right, I'm ruling in favor of accepting your explanation to the pertinence of that information and trust it'll eventually prove to be... pertinent." Simon then gave him what Jim referred to as the Royal Wave, signifying 'go forth and speak'.  
  
So, he did. "Okay, so on that final trip to the Coast Guard facility, I left first, with Sandburg right behind me. But you know him and how he always thinks he knows the best way to get somewhere--"  
  
Simon nodded. "I'm fully aware of that trait and the fact that he's usually correct."  
  
Trying to hide his discomfiture, Jim ducked his head. "Yeah," he admitted, "probably should've followed him because I got caught in that traffic jam at Fremont and 45th."  
  
"Surprise, surprise."  
  
The word 'snide' popped into Jim's head at Simon's tone, but since he was the boss Jim decided it'd be best to ignore it and went on. "So obviously Sandburg got there first which is when he remembered I had the pass. Instead of wasting time at the guard gate trying to get them to make a phone call while they searched his car--"  
  
Puzzled, Simon rubbed the back of his neck. "Searched his car? What am I missing here?"  
  
"The Coast Guard was on high alert as part of a three-day exercise, remember? They were searching every car going in and out."  
  
"Shit, yeah. How could I forget? Okay, move on."  
  
Jim got that royal hand wave and was almost tempted to suggest a Knighthood for himself, but then thought better of it and just went on with the story. "So, Sandburg found a parking spot in the Marina, as close to the gate as possible, and settled in to wait for me. And before you ask about calling for clearance, he'd forgotten to charge his phone. So that's the background and you already know what happened with the case; we did our job, spotted the sub, radioed you, flew back, landed, boarded the cutter, got the bad guys, returned to port--"  
  
Simon made the chatter gesture. "Yadda yadda. Just get to the baby buggy part already. I'm aging as you speak."  
  
"Okay, okay. So we're heading out, with me expecting Sandburg to get in the truck with me so I can take him over to his car; but instead he says he'll walk because--don't know if you knew it, but that was the last night of the Marina Festival and Christmas Boutique...."  
  
His voice trailed off thanks to the look Simon gave him, which clearly said he couldn't have given a flying reindeer whether it was the last night of the world, let alone a Christmas festival. So, after making a sound he hoped would generate the idea that he was clearing his throat, Jim cleared his throat and continued. "Anyway, I started to follow him but he waved me on, making that shooing motion, but when I didn't shoo, he said something like, ' _You're the one I'm shopping for, so amscray_ ' which was his way of telling me to get the hell out of there because he wanted to find me another gift."  
  
"Yeah, Sandburg's always been that way; clever with words, and you've always been equally clever about picking up on his clues."  
  
Once again Simon's sarcasm wasn't lost on Jim, it was also not lost on him that he should continue to ignore it. "Right. Okay, so Sandburg headed for the boutique tents but suddenly stopped, turned around and ran over to the Volvo. I couldn't figure out why, so I pulled over and waited to see if he'd changed his mind or something. I watched as he opened the door, then lean across the driver's seat. He was obviously reaching for something and, you know me, I could easily see what he was reaching for; his wallet." Jim stopped because he knew what was coming.  
  
"What do you mean his wallet? Even with the pass, he'd need his ID to get into the Coast Guard  
facility--"  
  
"He doesn't keep it in his wallet. Remember, he's got that handmade billfold the--"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, the tribe from wherever, and you’re telling me one of my best detectives leaves his wallet in plain sight on the front seat of his car? Sheesh. But no matter, just go on, Santa's getting edgy."  
  
"It wasn't in plain sight, Simon. It was in his jacket, which was on the front seat of the Volvo. He was reaching in to pull it out, okay?"  
  
Simon made a go-on motion with his hand, a move that was starting to get to Jim, but nevertheless....  
"What Blair didn't realize was how, when reaching for his jacket, he'd somehow dislodged the parking brake and, unfortunately, the Volvo was already in neutral--"  
  
Simon closed his eyes in a typical 'tell me it ain't so' gesture, one that almost always pertained to Blair, before asking, "Do I want to know why it was in neutral?"  
  
"It couldn't hurt," Jim said thoughtfully. "Lately, he's been having trouble with the car, specifically getting it out of park. Since he can't leave it in drive, he's been shutting it down in neutral and, of course, setting the parking brake." Jim got to his feet again, mostly because he really didn't think he could get through the next part without something stronger than coffee. As he headed for the kitchen, Simon, who was obviously thinking along the same lines, said, "I'll take whatever you're getting - but make it a double."

* * *

  
  
Trying to figure out what that double drink should be, Jim stared at the cupboard where they kept their liquor. As he looked at the array of bottles, he remembered Sandburg had put together a batter necessary for the Tom and Jerry's they’d be serving at their Christmas Eve party. Since the hardest part of the drink had been done by his partner, and he’d made enough for a small army, _and_ it was right there in the fridge, he thought, " _Why the hell not_?" Especially since it was obvious that using some now wouldn’t be noticed later – plus the worst part of the story coming up. Yep, a couple of 'T and Js' was just what the doctor ordered to help the rest of the story go down a little easier. Who knew a couple of T&J's could act as Merlin, waving his magic wand over Simon, in preparation for the rest of the story?  
  
He took down two mugs, got out a sauce pan, then the batter and milk from the fridge and, from the liquor shelf, two different bottles. After pouring enough milk for two into the saucepan, he set it on low and, while the milk was warming, put the two mugs in the microwave to heat them up as well – a trick Sandburg taught him a few Christmases ago.  
  
Being careful to watch the milk, he pulled the now-warmed mugs out of the microwave, added a heaping tablespoon of the batter into each, then an ounce each of dark rum and brandy. Remembering Simon's order to make it a double, he added a dash more alcohol into each. At times like this, his senses came in handy because he knew the exact moment the milk hit the perfect temperature. Taking it off the heat, he poured the warmed milk over the liquor/batter combination and stirred gently before adding a dash of nutmeg. It was, after all, the holiday season and nutmeg was SOP this time of year. Besides, according to Sandburg, no respectable T&J  would be caught dead without the spice.  
  
Mugs in hand, he headed back to the living room, somewhat surprised Simon hadn't said a word the entire time he was in the kitchen. Curious, he walked over to the couch and handed the mug down to his friend, who took it eagerly. He was just about to inquire into Simon's strange silence when Simon chose that moment to break it.  
  
"I haven't had a Tom and Jerry in years. I could smell the batter the minute you took it out of the fridge," he said, even as he closed his eyes dreamily and took in the scent of the fragrant drink.  
  
Jim looked warily at his friend and, incredulous, asked, " _You_ smelled the batter?"  
  
Simon savored his first sip before finally swallowing and, eyes still closed, answered, "Don't be ridiculous. Sandburg told me a week ago he'd made up a large amount in preparation for the party. And, being a detective with a keen sense of hearing, albeit not as good as yours, I cleverly put two and two together and came up with," he held up the mug, "this, which, by the way, is delicious. Sandburg's a magician when it comes to recreating drinks from my era. And it's definitely well worth sitting through the rest of the story - which, by the way, I'm beginning to regret ever having asked about in the first place."  
  
Hope blooming in his heart, Jim asked, "So no need to finish then?"  
  
Looking up from his drink, he asked, "Do I look like Santa Claus to you, Ellison?"  
  
Jim took a sip of his own T&J, felt its warming magic, and immediately took another one for good measure before saying, "There are times, Simon, when I could easily mistake you for the jolly--"  
  
  
Seeing the warning look Simon was giving him over the rim of his mug, Jim quickly switched gears. "I'll stop there since you always present the strong and imposing figure of a great leader." Satisfied he'd done the job of placating his boss and friend, it was probably time to return to the job at hand - because, despite his placating words, Simon didn't look like anybody's version of Santa.

* * *

  
  
"...Sandburg shut the door not realizing he'd dislodged the parking brake. Under normal circumstances, everything might have been fine...but he'd chosen one of the few parking spots in the new front row."  
  
"What am I missing? What's wrong with the new front row? It faces the water."  
  
"True." He stopped long enough to finish off his drink before adding, "You remember how last year they had to redo the parking lot after that huge storm surge?" At Simon's nod and, despite the fact he seemed more interested in the Tom and Jerry than the parking lot, Jim nevertheless continued. "In redoing it, they decided to raise that aisle up, thus placing the row on an incline. That accomplished two things; first, it created what they hoped would be a buffer against another possible surge, and second, it allowed an even better view--"  
  
"Don't worry, I got that part," Simon murmured. "Go on. I'm starting to get a feel for the story now."  
  
"Oh, right," Jim said, somewhat dubiously. Maybe he shouldn't have added the extra booze? Oh, well, too late now. "Okay, so Sandburg started walking back towards the tents and yes, as you'd expect, the Volvo started rolling back. Since I'd 'moved along' as directed by Sandburg, I was near the exit by then so nowhere near close enough to do any good, not even to yell. Not that he’d have heard over the kids, Christmas music, carolers, and--"  
  
Simon waved the royal hand in the air, again signifying those details were unnecessary. Jim was beginning to think that hand had a life of its own. He scratched the back of his head and really gave thought to getting another Tom and Jerry, but damn it, he needed to finish this damn story.  
  
"As much as I'd love another T and J," Simon said, once again eerily echoing what Jim had just been thinking, "I'm on the edge of my seat here."  
  
He wasn't of course, but Jim got the message. "Okay, so even though I couldn't yell, there was someone who could, and he did. Naturally Blair turned around, but there wasn't really anything he could do. Not that he didn't try. He started running back to his car, probably with some idea of jumping in and slamming his foot down on the brake, or at least reaching in and pulling the brake."  
  
"Ah, so that's how he was hurt," Simon deduced. "Anyone could have told him trying to get into a moving car could be dangerous. He's lucky not to have been run over by the Volvo."  
  
Simon's voice sounded mellow, something Jim chalked up to the drink. He just wished he didn't have to ruin the man's mellow mood. "Well, that's not exactly how it happened."  
  
At his words, Simon looked only mildly curious. Jim thanked God for the holiday drink. In fact, he was considering making Simon another one - until the mellow man asked, "So, what did happen?"  
  
So much for that idea. Jim took a deep breath and drove back in one more time. "Well, you remember the guy who yelled--"  
  
"It was only a minute ago, and I'm not that mellow, so yes, I remember. Go-o-n."  
  
Based on Simon doing a sing-song version of the last part, Jim decided he was that mellow - but he went on anyway. "Okay, so the guy yelled that a car was rolling backward and people started to panic--"  
  
"As is perfectly natural," Simon interjected pleasantly.  
  
Jim nodded even as he gave Simon a worried look. Maybe he shouldn't have added the extra alcohol after all. Shaking the thought off, he went on - yet again. "People started to look wildly around and there was this lady with a baby buggy--"  
  
"Ah, finally, the baby buggy."  
  
"Uh, yeah, finally. Well, she panicked, whipped around to see where the rolling car was and, in doing so, let go of the buggy--"  
  
Suddenly a hell of a lot less mellow, Simon shot forward, but before he could say a word, Jim just held up a hand. "Let me finish, Simon. In the name of all things holy, just let me finish."  
  
Frowning, Simon sat back and waited.  
  
"Blair and I saw the danger at the same time; the buggy was headed straight for the Volvo."  
  
"All right, I'm confused." Simon rubbed his temples. "Give me the logistics here. I get the Volvo's position but, since that row is now on an incline, his car should be rolling straight back and either hit the car directly across the aisle and if no car, then the divider between the aisles. And was the lady walking down the same aisle and, if so, I don't see how...okay, as I said, I'm confused."  
  
Jim rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to figure out how to explain everything. "Okay, picture that part of the lot; it's the corner lot at the end of what they call Restaurant Row, right?"  
  
Simon nodded. "Right. And it's triangular instead of square or rectangular like the other lots within the Marina. Got it."  
  
"Plus, there are six aisles running north-south and six going east-west, and yes, that's important," Jim quickly reassured before 'The Hand' could make another appearance. "And you're right, the Volvo should have rolled straight back, but it didn't. As for the lady with the baby buggy, she was walking down the aisle that ran opposite the Volvo and Blair was one aisle over from her when he realized the rolling car was his and that a baby buggy had been released.  
  
"And before you ask, the Volvo didn't roll straight back...it kind of…you know...turned." Jim, to replicate the Volvo's movement for Simon, gestured with his hand. "Apparently, when renovating the lot, they also put in a slight slope so any water that might come over, would flow down and towards the newly-installed drain, all of which was painfully obvious once the car became a runaway. And of course, with a baby buggy, there's no predicting its course. Hell, a pebble on the asphalt could alter its direction."  
  
He stopped a moment before adding thoughtfully, "You know, actually that slope was lucky because the tents were at the other end of the parking lot, lined up east to west, but the Volvo was headed south. On the other hand, and unfortunately, so was the baby buggy."  
  
Simon sat forward again, all signs of his mellow mood gone. "So, what, Blair got between the Volvo and the baby buggy; pushed it out of the way?"  
  
"Not...precisely. Okay, so we've got the Volvo going backwards and down, we've got the baby buggy doing the same. Now picture the parking lot again; specifically, the special driveway for delivery trucks - the one that comes up from Canal Street?" At Simon's urgent nod, Jim continued. "Yeah, well, a large truck chose that moment to come up the incline into the parking lot. It was one of those rent-a-tent trucks, coming for the tents once the festival ended."  
  
"Oh, shit," Simon uttered in disbelief.  
  
Jim nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's what I said when I heard it coming." He shook off the memory and went on. "Against all odds, the Volvo suddenly turned again and right into the path of the truck and, also against all odds, the baby buggy hit a bump, which changed _its_ trajectory – also right into the path of the truck. The only thing that didn't turn… was the truck."  
  
"What do you mean he didn't turn?" Simon asked angrily.  
  
Considering that Simon looked as angry as he sounded, Jim was grateful the truck driver was nowhere near them at that moment. "I mean, Simon, that he didn't turn, but if you'll recall the driveway, you'll remember it's one lane, going only one-way, and that way is up. It's got the wall on each side, so there’s no way to turn--"  
  
Simon jumped to his feet. "Well, damn it, man, tell me he at least stopped!" As quickly as his anger burst forth, it was just as quickly contained. He immediately sat back down, wiped his forehead and said, "I know damn well Sandburg wasn't hit by any truck, so this is me calming down. Just finish the story."  
  
"Yes, well, okay then. So, we have the truck, the baby buggy and the Volvo, all on a collision course, with Blair running straight for the whole thing in his effort to save the baby. The truck driver couldn't see the baby buggy, and he couldn't know that the Volvo was driverless, so he was angry as hell and started honking his horn even as he revved up the engine. And before you ask, he was honking in order to get the attention of a driver he thought was behind the wheel. The noise of the revved engine was meant to scare Sandburg, who he _could_ see and probably thought was a crazy nut.  
  
"That's when Blair made his move. The truck driver was oblivious to the facts and still moving and, at that point, it was a toss-up as to whether the truck or the Volvo would hit the baby buggy. As it turned out, the Volvo won, but not the way you think.” He paused then and swiped a hand over his face before saying, "I tell you, Simon, I saw it, but still don't believe any of it. First, and I'm not entirely sure how Sandburg did it, he jumped a couple of the dividers and even a parked car, sliding across it like stuntman, you know, like on those TV crime shows?"  
  
At another urgent nod of understanding from Simon, Jim continued. "I swear, Simon, no Olympic hurdler could have done better. When he hit the ground again, he did a kind of," Jim made a little circular motion with his finger, "pirouette; the only word that adequately describes the move, and don't say it, because yes, I agree, its use falls under the category of Sandburgian Influence."  
  
"You're forgiven for the use of 'pirouette'. Now what the hell happened next?"  
  
"Somehow Blair managed to - miraculously - snag the baby buggy from behind. It was just bad luck that the angry truck driver accelerated--"  
  
"Accelerated!?" Simon almost squeaked out the word in a mixture of horror and anger.  
  
"You need to remember the guy thought someone was behind the wheel of the Volvo. He figured they'd get out of the way if they saw his truck thundering towards them. And yeah, 'thundering' might be a slight exaggeration, considering it was a huge truck going uphill...maybe lumbering's more accurate, but still...." This time he got not only the Royal Wave, but the rolling eyes. He moved on. "So just when I thought Blair had it, the truck reached the top, its front bumper clipped the Volvo, which in turn swerved again, and its rear bumper clipped the buggy."  
  
"Oh my God," Simon whispered in horror.  
  
"No, Sandburg," Jim corrected. "He somehow managed to keep hold of the buggy." Before Simon could relax too much Jim hurriedly added, "Unfortunately, the truck driver, who could now see the baby buggy, went for the brakes, but in his panic, hit the accelerator instead--"  
  
Simon jumped to his feet. " _ **What**_!? What the hell's wrong with that idiot? He's a professional truck driver, for crissakes, he should have seen everything to begin with because he's a fucking professional with special fucking training!"  
  
Jim waved him down. "Simon, we're talking about the past - hello?"  
  
Simon gave him a less-than-reassuring look but grudgingly retook his seat, then rather stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest and waited.  
  
The body language wasn't lost on Jim, but since finishing the decorating, that's all he'd been doing - just one long series of 'going on' and 'continuing' but never finishing. He had this horrible feeling that New Year's would come and go before he ever got to the point of the story and, unless he wanted to make that prophecy come true, he'd better...yeah, continue.  
  
"Okay, Sandburg still has the baby buggy, is pulling it towards him and out of the way of the truck." At Simon's expression, Jim warned, "Don't say anything else about the driver hitting the accelerator instead of the brake, it's over and trust me, the poor guy felt terrible, okay?"  
  
Simon simply held up both hands in surrender before waving Jim on to finish what had officially become "The Never-Ending-Baby Buggy-Bumper-Volvo-Truck Story."  
  
"Sandburg got the buggy safely out of the way, but then something odd happened--"  
  
"Oh, so everything up to now hasn't been odd?" Simon asked, his sarcasm back to full strength.  
  
Jim chose to ignore him and went on as if nothing else had been said. "Because when he pulled, he naturally pulled hard, fully expecting to pull it into himself. But instead, the buggy went flying and...at the same moment, the truck hit the Volvo, which sent it back towards Blair. No one else was close enough to help; the woman was frozen in place and, while I was out of the truck and running as fast as possible, I knew there was no way in hell I'd get to him in time."  
  
As he felt the emotion of that moment return, Jim found himself unable to go on and badly in need of another drink, and he didn't mean a Tom and Jerry. Picking up his mug, he got to his feet. "Sorry, Simon, but I've got to... to get something. Just… just hang on, I need another drink; a stiff one."  
  
Simon's response was to simply lift his mug as Jim walked by him. He took it and, just as he entered the kitchen, heard Simon's muttered, "Make mine a double whatever."

* * *

  
  
Jim didn't even have to think twice. He took down the Lagavulin 16-year-old Single Malt Scotch -- a gift from his dad after hearing he and Sandburg were getting hitched. His father had handed it to him and, after unwrapping it, said, "I figure with Sandburg as a life-partner, you'll need it."  
  
Oddly enough, his father's remark had nothing to do with the press conference. No, Dad had come to like Sandburg a great deal and, in coming to like him, he’d gotten to know him well – well enough to understand his son would need the Scotch. Jim had never said his father wasn't a smart man. He'd said many other things during the years when they'd been less than close, but he'd never said that.  
  
Now he opened the bottle, poured two fingers worth in each mug - then added another two even as he vaguely wondered how a great single malt would taste when mingled with the vestiges of the Tom and Jerrys. Not that he cared. In reaching for the cap - Jim was surprised to find his hands shaking. Chalking it up to sense memory, he glanced at the bottle of Scotch - picked it up, took a healthy swig, replaced the top and then stuck it under his arm before picking up the two mugs. And no, he didn't give a damn that he'd just drunk straight out of the bottle. He walked back into the living room, handing off Simon's mug on his way to Blair's favorite chair. Once seated, he and Simon looked at each other, lifted their mugs, did an in-the-air clink and, to Simon's "Down the hatch," they did just that.  
  
When Simon finished, he cocked his head slightly and said, after licking his lips, "Interesting flavor. Not necessarily bad, either."  
  
Jim had to agree. Not bad at all...but not one he necessarily wanted to repeat anytime soon. He sat the mug and bottle down on the table next to him and asked, "Ready for the rest?"  
  
Simon put his legs up on the coffee table, crossed them at the ankles, put his hands behind his head, fingers locked, and said, "Have at it."  
  
" _And mellow was back; let's hear it for mellow_ ,” Jim thought even as he cleared his throat and waded back into the story that would seemingly never end.

* * *

  
  
"...and Blair realized what was happening; that he'd somehow lost control of the baby buggy, which was still in the air. Things were flying all over the place - and then Blair realized the Volvo was spinning towards him--"  
  
"The truck, what about the truck?"  
  
Jim made a downward motion with his hand. "I'm getting to that. One thing at a time." He shifted around in the chair to get more comfortable before going on, which he didn't have a chance to do because Simon had another question; the same question - almost.  
  
"But the truck. How could the Volvo be spinning backwards towards Blair? And at what point did the truck stop? Did the Volvo spin past and then do a 360?" Suddenly Simon's expression went from demanding curiosity to horror. "Oh, hell, I forgot about the baby, what about the baby? Don't tell me he didn't get to the baby in time?"  
  
Jim shook his head, not so much as a response but more in resignation. With a trace of exasperation in his voice, he said, "You think this is easy, trying to relive it and get all the pieces in the right places? Just... just don't ask any more questions, all right? I'm almost finished if you'll just let me concentrate and get it out." He glanced down at the bottom of scotch. "But first," he picked up the Scotch, took another healthy swallow, then wiped his lips. He refused to look at Simon, who was undoubtedly wiggling his fingers, signaling his desire for the bottle, but one of them had to stay sober and his vote went to Simon. He took what had to have been his twentieth deep breath since starting - yet again - to finish the story of....  
  
Wait, what? Puzzled, Jim scratch the top of his head, as if he could scratch the answer off... oh, yeah. Sandburg. He sat back in the chair, bottle firmly grasped in his hand. "So, back to where we were... where we are... whatever. Anyway, as the cab swung...in whatever--"  
  
"Cab? What cab? When did a cab show up in the parking lot?" Simon looked not only puzzled but really, really, thirsty, which might explain why he was suddenly walking towards Jim, eyes fixed on the bottle of Scotch.  
  
Deciding to be unselfish, he held it out and, as Simon took it, said very slowly, "I don't mean a taxi cab, Simon. I mean the cab of the truck. It jack-knifed, remember?"  
  
Simon was - sipping would be too polite a description – but guzzling was perfect. Simon was guzzling Jim's Scotch. At least he knew now what to ask his father for Christmas this year.  
  
Having quenched his thirst, he was headed back to the couch – with Jim’s bottle – which was quite obviously _not_ coming back Jim's way. After retaking his seat, Simon offered the now familiar hand-wave.  
  
With a roll of his eyes, Jim said, "Right. Okay, so the trailer swung at the same time the Volvo slid back and kind of... you know, hit the Volvo, shoving it into the embankment - the wall between the beach and the parking lot. At the same time, Blair, thank God, tripped over a water sprinkler--"  
  
"Whoa," Simon interrupted, "where did a water sprinkler come from and why ' _thank God_ ', for crying out loud? He fell!”  
  
"Oh, you know him. He'd try something stupid and probably get squished like his car. And yeah, I know squished isn't exactly police talk, but his car _was_ squished and if he hadn’t tripped, he’d suffered the same fate so yeah, thank God, okay? I gotta tell you, Simon, you've never heard anything like that sound."  
  
Simon gave a little nod of understanding before saying, "And the Court accepts the word _squished_."  
  
"Why, thank you. I appreciate that." Jim wasn't so far gone that he wasn't aware he and Simon were drunk as skunks. Suddenly he asked, "Where the hell does that expression come from, anyway?"  
  
Simon asked the obvious. "What expression?"  
  
"You know, 'drunk as skunks'?"  
  
"Ah, yes." He reached for his jacket, pulled out a pocket notebook and pen from the inside pocket and, flipping the pad open, started scribbling. When done, he replaced them and grinned kind of lopsidedly at him.  
  
"Simon?"  
  
"A note to myself to ask Sandburg about that expression. If I don't write it down, I won't remember tomorrow when we pick him up."  
  
"Wow, I'm in... I'm... you know, that was good thinking for a guy who makes a drunk skunk look sober."  
  
Simon gave him another lopsided grin. "Nice try, Sentinel boy. Finish the story."  
  
Jim decided to let 'Sentinel boy' fly by while praying Simon would forget he'd said it by tomorrow. "Don't worry," he assured. "The finish line's in sight."  
  
Simon gave a little half-hearted fist pump. "Yippee. Oh, and by the way, I'm betting Sandburg was injured by a hoard of angry sprinklers."  
  
Jim shook his head. "No, no sprinklers. It was the baby buggy," Jim said rather sadly.  
  
Simon slapped his forehead. "Oh my God, I forgot about the baby buggy and baby - _again_." He shook his head before adding, "So Blair got hurt saving the baby."  
  
Simon's voice was so soft and full of wonder, Jim almost hated having to tell him the truth; but truth was truth, so he said, "There was no baby, Simon. That damn buggy was full of presents."  
  
At Simon's dumbfounded look – and at least Jim now knew exactly what ‘dumbfounded’ looked like – he explained, "She’d borrowed the buggy from her sister, who wasn't using it any longer because her kid's nine. Anyway, she thought it'd not only get her a seat on the bus but would hold all of the stuff from the boutique." Jim then held up his right hand and started to tick off Sandburg's injuries one by one: "He injured his back when he hit the ground; his ankle when making contact with the sprinkler; his shoulder, ribs and head were thanks to the baby buggy’s landing on top of him, and his wrist and facial laceration were thanks to the items that fell _out_ of the baby buggy. The only good thing was that between the noise and trying to fend off all the crap falling out of the buggy, Sandburg didn't see or hear the death of the Volvo."  
  
At last, Jim relaxed into the chair, satisfied that he was finally done. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders – weight like maybe that of a baby buggy. A few quiet moments drifted happily by - until Jim realized there was a weird sound coming from nearby. He blinked a couple of times only to see Simon's fingers two inches from his face and snapping repeatedly. He reached out and grabbed them in order to stop the infernal noise.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked even as Simon pulled his hand out of Jim's.  
  
"You were zoning," Simon answered as a flexed his slightly numb fingers.  
  
"No, I wasn't. "  
  
"Yes, you were," Simon snapped back.  
  
"Was not."  
  
"Were."  
  
"Weren't."  
  
Simon's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You were zoning, and I don't want to hear another word about it. Understood?"  
  
"Still say I wasn't."  
  
"And unless I'm mistaken, that was another word – four to be exact. But in order to satisfy you; I've been standing here snapping my fingers in front of your face for five minutes. Is that proof enough? Or should I call Sandburg?"  
  
Truly surprised, Jim repeated, "Five minutes?"  
  
Simon waived a hand in front of his face. You heard me; _five_ minutes."  
  
Looking truly sorry, Jim lowered his head. "I guess seeing it all again, well, you know... although if it weren't so horrible... it'd be kind of--"  
  
"I think the word you're looking for is funny," Simon offered helpfully.  
  
Jim lifted his head and looked up into Simon's smiling face. "Yeah, funny, in that, 'slip-on-a-banana-peel, Three-Stooges' kind of way."  
  
"More like the Sandburg kind of way," Simon added. "After all, this could only have happened to him."  
  
"Very true." He gave a nod to the Scotch, which was sitting on the coffee table. "You want to get that? I could use a bit more." At Simon's doubtful look, he added, "I'm not the one who has to drive home – and speaking of driving – you’re welcome to stay the night."  
  
Considering how much he'd had to drink already, the alacrity with which Simon moved to get the bottle was damn Olympic-worthy.

* * *

  
  
The Christmas lights were on and there was a small fire in the fireplace. That loft looked cozy and quiet with both men enjoying complete relaxation for the first time that evening. What was left of the Scotch was back in the cupboard, and the mugs had been washed, dried and put away. Suddenly the comfortable silence was broken by Simon. "So the Volvo's really dead?"  
  
"Completely totaled."  
  
"The word 'completely' was superfluous--"  
  
Jim grinned and said, "Don't forget extraneous."  
  
A few more minutes passed before Simon spoke again, with a softness generally reserved for Sandburg. "Does _he_ understand it's truly gone?"  
  
"Yeah. I tried to shield him when getting everything off him, but he saw it, so yeah, he knew immediately that it was a write-off. His expression isn't one I want to see again. And then telling him there was no baby in the baby buggy? Not my best moment, but damn, he was looking around, a terrible dazed look on his face, so how could I not tell him, you know? Hell, I thought it’d make him feel better. And it did…but damn--"  
  
"Yeah, damn. The Volvo died for nothing." Simon's voice was flat.  
  
"That's pretty much what Blair said - later. But then I pointed out the logistics behind everything that happened, how if it had happened any other way, if just one thing had been different – well, Blair could have been killed by the truck."  
  
Simon sighed heavily. "So no car for the kid."  
  
Suddenly grinning, Jim got to his feet. "Follow me. Got something to show you."

* * *

  
  
"Where the fuck are we going?" Simon complained once they were out on the sidewalk. It was cold, and he wasn’t a happy man.  
  
"The garage across the street. Hang in there."  
  
"Garage? You guys have a garage now?"  
  
"Belongs to a friend of mine, he's letting me use it since he's spending the holidays with his family in Vancouver."  
  
When they reached the building, Jim unlocked it and pulled up the garage door. He took one step in, reached for the light, and finding it, flipped it on.  
  
The shape under the tarp told Simon it was clearly a car. With a stunnded expression on his face, he walked around it before finally saying, "Oh my God, you bought him another Volvo." When Jim didn't answer, he asked, "Where in the hell did you find another one?"  
  
Smiling much like a canary who's outwitted the cat, Jim removed the cover… and was thoroughly satisfied by Simon's shocked gasp.

 

End Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

  
  
  
  
**The Next Morning**  
  
"Okay, the loft’s ready,” Jim said as he surveyed the work he and Simon had done. "I've got his favorite foods laid in, the tree in the bedroom is lit, there’s eggnog in the fridge, the Godiva hot chocolate on the counter, and our downstairs neighbor, Regina, made his favorite magic cookie bars, bourbon brownies and Rice Krispy Treats, also spiked. I left a nice sampling of all on the nightstand, on his side of the bed.” Nodding happily, he added, "So I’m thinking we're ready for 'Operation Bring Sandburg Home'."  
  
"Maybe _you_ are, but my head's pounding. What I wouldn't give right now for your ability to dial down pain."  
  
Jim immediately walked down the hall to the bathroom, took a bottle from the medicine cabinet and returned. Shaking out two tablets, he handed them over. "Need a little hair of the dog to help these go down?" he asked with a sympathetic smile.  
  
Simon's answer was to simply pop them into his mouth and swallow before asking, "What did I just take?"  
  
"Blair's foolproof 'Grading Papers Headache' medicine. He claimes the great Merlin concocted them, but It's just a combination of acetaminophen, aspirin and caffeine."  
  
"Whew, if that doesn't work nothing will."  
  
"Give it 20 minutes and you'll be feeling good as new," Jim assured him.  
  
"Before we head to the hospital, I'd like to make a request."  
  
"Oh yeah, what?"  
  
"Is there any way you could hold off showing Blair," he jerked his head towards the window and obviously the garage across the street, "his Christmas gift until Daryl and I get here, along with the others, for the party on Christmas Eve?"  
  
"You think anyone else cares that I got him a new journal to write in or the new slippers or--"  
  
"Come on, Jim, don't torture me. You know what I mean."  
  
Jim thought about it for all of 30 seconds before saying, "Actually, that's a great idea, so yeah, I'll wait for the party... although… I really had a plan for just the two of us going down there and, you know, surprising him that way. But with whole gang here it'd be far more difficult to surprise him. The minute we all scramble downstairs, he’ll know something’s up."  
  
Simon was silent for a couple of minutes before snapping his fingers, "I think I’ve got the perfect answer - we use Daryl." At Jim's puzzled expression, he explained. "Look, he knows he's getting a car from his mother and me, so he doesn't have to drive his mother's old Subaru. But he's getting it when he's with her over New Year's. But if I rope him in on this and you tell Sandburg that we have the car stored in the garage to fool Daryl--"  
  
"I knew there was a reason you’re a Captain! You really are smart. And don't worry, I'll make sure Blair knows it was your idea, so you'll get all the credit."  
  
"Gee, thanks I'm all a-twitter here."  
  
Jim reached for his jacket as he added, "Besides, it'll provide all the proof he needs."  
  
Slipping into his own jacket, Simon frowned. "All the proof he needs of what?"  
  
Keys in hand and door open, Jim said as he walked out, "Why, proof of how smart you really are, of course."  
  
Simon closed the door behind them and joined Jim at the elevator. While they waited, he took out a cigar and the fancy cigar punch Daryl ha d given him for his last birthday; punched a small hole in the tip of the cigar and, after putting the punch back, took out a box of matches and lit his stogie.  
  
As he took in his first drag, he dropped the burned-out match into the receptacle behind them and, after taking a few more satisfying puffs, he rolled back on his heels and said conversationally, "They tell me being a beat cop's job isn't nearly as bad these days, but I'm not so sure. Thank God I'll have you out there in the new year. After a couple of weeks pounding the pavement, you'll be able to let me know."  
  
Discretion being the better part of valor, Jim wisely shut up and let Simon have the last word. Besides, now that donuts were experiencing a resurgence, resulting in almost as many gourmet donut shops as coffee kiosks, he had an idea that being a beat cop was a heck of a lot worse now – or better, depending on how much a cop valued his waistline. And Jim valued his, but damn, donuts were his Achilles heel, so yeah, way worse. Way.

* * *

  
  
"Just tell me you put _something_ up, like the wreath for the door?" Blair was dressed and sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, his uninjured leg swinging impatiently. They were waiting for the usual release and, for the last twenty minutes, Blair had been grilling them on everything from what was going on in the squad room before sequeing to Daryl’s visit. He’d finally gotten around to whether Jim had done any decorating.  
  
Hoping to keep from giving in and ruining the surprise of a decorated loft, Jim looked at his watch and said, "Why is it a nurse always gets you dressed to go home, tells you all she has to do is get the doctor's release, and then she's never seen again?"  
  
"She may not be seen again but an aide always shows up with a wheelchair, which I'm sure will happen any minute now. Besides the whole ‘get dressed and wait’ thing is hospital policy," Simon answered.  
  
Blair flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his jean-clad leg before chiming in. "You know, I think it's a secret test to make sure you're really ready to go home. That's why I always sit on the edge of the bed, because the mistake comes while you're waiting, see?"  
  
Jim didn’t and, based on Simon’s expression, neither did he, but he was interested in seeing where his partner was going. Besides, Blair looked impossibly wonderful, even with the butterfly bandage on his cheek. His hair was in complete disarray and Jim wanted nothing more than to get his hands in it, but they were, after all, in the hospital, with Simon - and speaking of, he'd better go back to listening because his partner was still talking, and he was pretty sure he hadn't taken a breath yet.  
  
"... and then your back starts to hurt, so what do you do? Right, you lie down. Jim, I tell you, that's the kiss of death because _that's_ when that one nurse suddenly reappears, like Merlin, in a cloud of smoke. She sees you lying down, decides you're _not_ ready to go home so goes running back to a doctor and, the next thing you know, you're stuck in here for another week. Man, it really sucks, you know? I'm thinking it might be more than a test, it might also have something to do with the good old bottom line and those big fancy bonus checks they get for keeping the beds full."  
  
Trying not to laugh outright, Jim said, " Chief, I'm pretty sure they don't get paid by the bed. Privatized prisons; yes, but hospitals, not so much. They want you out sooner than later - and the sooner the better."  
  
Jim got out of the chair by the window to join Blair on the bed. He placed a hand on the swinging leg, hopefully to keep it and the bed safe from damage, before saying, "In fact, I'm still surprised they kept you for three days. With you, it's usually only an overnighter."  
  
"Oh yeah, three days. Well, you know, there was, kind of, well, it was more like... maybe sort of--"  
  
Simon looked from one man to the other, sensed a fight coming on, and decided he should make like a magician and pull a disappearing act. "Okay, since I’m Conner’s Secret Santa this year and still haven’t figured out what to get her, I’m heading to the gift shop until the nurse returns to release you – although if I had any say in the matter—”  
  
"Which you don’t,” both Jim and Blair said in perfect unison.  
  
"My suggestion,” Simon went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted, "I’d have them keep both of you in here indefinitely.” Proud that he’d finally had the last word with Jim and Sandburg, he walked out, head held high.

* * *

  
  
As soon as Simon left, both men fell silent. Blair went back to swinging his leg and Jim wondered how much the hospital would charge him for a couple aspirin. Probably a small fortune. Damn it. Three days. _Three_. Which meant…damn, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. "Oh my God, Sandburg. You pulled the doctor-patient confidentiality card, didn't you?"  
  
Looking very uncomfortable, Blair shifted on the bed. "Aw, come on man, you know how you get. It was for your own good. Hell, even thinking they were minor injuries--"  
  
"What do you mean _thinking_?" Jim asked as he got to his feet, ignoring the fact that his voice might have squeaked. Lowering it, he said, "Explain - now."  
  
"I just meant," Blair said, moving his hand around as if holding a baseball in the general vicinity of his head, "there was a little swelling, and you know how doctors are about swelling... here." He made a more circular motion with his hand this time, only now next to his temple. "Turns out, once the swelling goes down, well, they like to wait another 24 hours which is the reason it went from two to three days. That's all." He patted Jim's cheek while giving him his cheekiest grin. "See? It wasn't anything bad, but... just... you know how you are, so I asked the doctor to refrain from giving you all the information, which is my right to do, no matter what we have on those file cards out there… somewhere." He gave an aimless wave of his hand that was supposed to indicate the area outside the room.  
  
"Chief, we talked about this. We talked long and hard about this, considering what we do for a living. And yet you just went back on everything we agreed."  
  
Jim's voice was low, the disappointment evident in both tone and expression. Blair suddenly felt as if he'd made the wrong decision. But before he could respond, Jim went on.  
  
"How am I supposed to trust you now? And you know I don't mean about anything else. But this; the injuries or, God forbid, an illness. Jesus, Sandburg, I'm really angry here."  
  
Blair took one of Jim's hands and squeezed hard. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I guess I didn't think it through. Just wanted to save you a little worry, that's all. But that's what we do with each other, right? Worry?"  
  
Jim didn't respond or even look at him, and that really scared him, so he got up, pushed Jim's legs apart and moved in between them. Taking Jim's face between his hands, he entreated, "Look at me. Come on, look at my face, Jim, read my eyes."  
  
Feeling the warmth of Blair's hands on his cheeks and the slight tremble running through them, Jim lifted his head to look into his partner's eyes – and the anger was somewhat diminished. Blair must have realized that because he said, "You have my promise never to do anything like that again, Jim.”  
  
A simply made statement, said with an honesty that Jim could clearly see in those beautiful eyes staring back at him. There was just one problem. "You already promised - on those cards out there," he wiggled a finger towards the doorway, "the ones you mentioned a moment ago?"  
  
Blair shook his head. "I don't want to be a nitpicker, especially during such a solemn moment like this, but nowhere did we promise anything. All I did was sign a card stating that medical information about me was to go to you first, and you did the same with yours."  
  
Jim looked angry again, not to mention giving Blair the _'when did you flip your lid'_ look. "Sandburg, no one, not even my father, hell, not even your mother can make me as angry with you as you do."  
  
Blair had that squinty look; the one that said he had no idea what Jim had said, so naturally, he said,  
"I haven't a clue what you just said because your father can't make you angry with me, and my mother can't make you angry with me, which means I'm the only person who _could_ make you angry with me and I get that - I've made you angry with me. But let's talk sensibly here. I'm giving you a heartfelt apology and a real promise it'll never happen again, so the important thing now is how long, precisely, are you going to hold this over my head? I mean, it's the holiday season and I'd like to think we could get through it before Christmas Eve before you throw it in my face in the middle of juicy fight, the kind that ends up with us having spectacular make-up sex, which wouldn’t happen if you did throw it in my face, so be warned now. Plus, we're a couple now and that's what couples do, so just give me a ballpark figure, okay? And remember, Valentine's Day isn't all that far off, so you want to make sure you're done bringing it up in every argument between New Year’s and Valentine’s Day, or no heart-shaped box full of Almond Rocca, I'm telling you that right now, okay?"  
  
What does a guy do in a situation like this, with a man like Blair Sandburg? Jim hadn't a clue nor had he ever had one where his partner was concerned. Which meant there was only one answer and it was simple. He was going to love Blair Sandburg with every fiber of his being. But God damn it, when he died, he had every intention of coming back and haunting the bastard.

* * *

  
  
The aide finally arrived with the wheelchair and, after one steely look from Jim, eagerly relinquished it to him.  
  
Thankful that Simon had returned, Jim gave the room one last going over, making sure all the get-well flowers were in either Blair's lap or Simon's arms, along with the requisite "Once Home" instructions from the doctor inside the usual plastic hospital bag hanging from Simon's wrist. Jim figured between the two of them, they had a drawerful of hospital bags. Finally satisfied, he patted Blair on top of his head. "So, feel like going home, Chief?"  
  
Sandburg made a forward motion with his hand. "Home, James, post haste."  
  
Behind them Simon huffed a bit and said, "Oh, now that was original - not."  
  
Cocking his head to the left, Blair cupped a hand to his ear and said, "Did you hear something, Jim?"  
  
Simon responded for his top detective by saying, "He refuses to answer on the grounds that it might seriously harm his future with the Cascade P.D. – and me. Something you might consider the next time I join him in the task of picking you up from the hospital, Sandburg."  
  
Blair tilted his head so he could see Jim. Plucking at his sleeve, he said, "Isn't it wonderful, what a great captain we have? I mean, what other boss would come to the hospital just to help you take your partner home?"  
  
Pushing them out the door, Jim said, "Nice save, Tonto. Nice save."  
  
Heading towards the elevator, Simon made one slight correction – and once again; the last word, "Toto. It's, ‘nice save Toto."

* * *

  
  
"…can we at least stop off at Mann's Department--"  
  
"No! Nor will we stop at Ridges Sporting Goods or CVS – and by the way, Ellison, what the hell kind of Christmas present can he get someone at CVS? Unless it's for me, as in something for the made-by-Sandburg headaches," Simon answered. He didn't miss the fact that his voice sounded a great deal like it had when driving a five-year-old Daryl around during the holidays. Knowing Blair would have a lot of flowers and balloons, he’d offered his car; a decision he was now regretting.  
  
"How 'bout just--"  
  
Jim give him a little kick, on his good leg, before saying, "No, we're not stopping at Post Haste, either. You already picked up the stationery for Sally and, before you ask, we're not stopping--"  
  
Simon took his right hand from the wheel and held it up in a ‘stop now’ gesture. "Allow me to finish that sentence. Sandburg? Listen and listen carefully; we're - not - stopping - anywhere. Understood?"  
  
Jim didn't need an answer from Blair, he could hear the fact that he was nodding; could hear the slide of hair under the knitted cap and the crimping of his shirt collar under his sweater as his head bobbed up and down. But because Simon couldn't, he gave him a gentle elbow in the side - the undamaged one.  
  
"Oh, right. Yes, Captain, Sir, my captain! We're not stopping anywhere on the way home... except maybe a gas station."  
  
"So help me, Sandburg, if you say you need a bathroom when we've only just left the hospital, I'm going to have to kill you. And no, Jim would _not_ testify against me."  
  
Blair, not in the least bit cowed by Simon’s words, said, "Hey, I may not have perfect vision like my partner, but even I can see your gas gauge, Simon. And yes, by the way, he would too testify against you because a husband trumps a boss and a friend every time."  
  
For a reason he could never explain, Simon suddenly felt like a complete heel. Some homecoming. He was just about to say something; anything to lighten the mood, when Sandburg beat him to it by asking, cheeky grin in place, "Are we there yet?"  
  
That was all it took. Ice broken, mood lightened and all three laughing.  
  
After their laughter died down, there’s was a comfortable silence; the kind Jim loved. It said a great deal about not only the friendship between the three of them, but also about his relationship with Blair. Maybe that's what he loved most about it; how they could sit together for hours and not say a word, yet feel comfortable, safe and loved, with no need to do anything but enjoy the closeness of the other. And, somehow, Simon understood it, appreciated it, even shared in it. Over the years, their friendship had become a welcome and needed bond and the three of them had certainly been through a hell of a lot since Jim had first brought Sandburg into Simon’s office.  
  
For Jim, both as man and sentinel, moments like these when he could surround himself with Blair's scent, hear every inhale and soft exhale, and the gentle thumps of his beating heart, were lifesavers. He could feel the relaxation flowing from Simon and see the half smile on his face; one that not even all balloons and flowers between them could hide from his sentinel sight. In fact, he doubted Simon was even aware of the grin as he drove them toward Prospect. But it was also in such moments when he wished with all his heart that this gift of heightened senses could have been shared with Blair, the man who was his other half.  
  
Content, Jim kept his eyes on the road ahead, imagining Blair’s expression of surprise at the loft. And later, when he climbed into their bed, he wouldn't be alone. Blair would be right beside him, where he belonged.

* * *

  
  
God, it was moments like this that Blair loved. He knew everything was right between them and he was finally going home. Tonight, he’d be sleeping in his own bed, and he wouldn’t be alone. Jim would be right beside him, where he belonged. But right now, he was just living in the moment and happily breathing in the hint of Jim's aftershave. He glanced over to see Jim's profile; so strong in the lights provided by the street lamps and Christmas lights. Was there anything better than this? Doubtful.

* * *

  
  
"You _did_ put up the door wreath!" Blair exclaimed as he approached their home.  
  
Stoic expression in place, Jim just shrugged and batted one of the balloons away from his face. "Couldn't have you returning home without at least seeing that ugly wreath."  
  
"It's not exactly ugly, just a little overcrowded," Simon offered helpfully. "In fact, I meant to ask you about it." Just in time he stopped himself from adding the word 'yesterday', which might have tipped Blair off.  
  
"That's Naomi's handy work," Jim said, even as he nonchalantly flicked at a poinsettia petal. At least he hoped he'd looked nonchalant. "For a woman who despises Christmas, she can really create an ugly wreath when she puts her mind to it."  
  
"You've got it backwards, Jim. if she'd put her mind to it, that would've been gorgeous. She was trying to be accommodating."  
  
Puzzled, Simon looked at Jim, then Blair, then back at the wreath. "Accommodating? Am I missing something? Your mom loves Christmas."  
  
"Yes, she does, but you have to understand how, for Mom, it represents a confliction."  
  
The three of them were still in the hall, still staring at the wreath, door still shut. Jim was getting a little antsy but when he saw Simon's confused expression, he figured it’d be easier to provide a quick explanation in order to get Sandburg in the front door before New Year’s. Taking the deep breath he was fast becoming accustomed to, he dove in. "Confliction, Simon. Spelled, ‘c-o-n-f-l-i-c-t-i-o-n’, as in conflict combined with affliction. Confliction has its origins in the fact that Naomi’s still feeling conflic _ted_ over her son marrying a pig which is, in her opinion, an _affliction_ of her son’s. Yet she also knows that same Pig’s saved many lives, with her son’s help. Hence, the _confliction_. And please don't tell me I need to use it in a sentence since Sandburg’s already done that. Now, can we go inside?"  
  
Simon gave a loud sigh; an exaggerated, melodramatic sigh; his ‘Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg/Naomi Sandburg’ sigh. But it was enough to satisfy Jim that he could finally open the fucking door. If some of the shine was off the tinsel, so be it. Blair wouldn't know the difference anyway.  
  
Trying for nonchalant again, he divested Blair of everything on his lap, grateful that Simon got the message and took it all – which left him looking like one huge planted balloon or plants growing balloons. Jim unlocked the door and, trying to hide his grin, nudged the door open and pushed Sandburg inside. He could hear Simon unload everything on the floor behind the door; the only space left untouched by Christmas decorations. He’d left their small fireplace going so it would offer the only light and now that Simon’s arms were empty, he gave the planned ‘go ahead’ nod and Simon quickly snapped on the light switch as they both said, "Surprise!"  
  
When there was no immediate response, Jim was afraid he'd overstepped one of those hidden boundaries husbands and – husbands - don’t discover until it’s too late. He placed his hand on Blair's shoulder - and knew instantly that wasn't the case. He knew every tremble that Blair's body could create and this one was of sheer joy.  
  
"Oh, man, Jim, I can't believe you did this," Blair breathed out in awe.  
  
" _We_ did this," Simon proudly corrected.  
  
Blair did a little pirouette in his wheelchair, the better to take in every single inch of their home. When finished, he finally looked up at his partner, eyes almost as bright as the decorations. "How? How did you get it right? Man, you didn't miss a thing - everything's exactly where it _should_ be!"  
  
"Please. You do this every year. If I don't know by now where everything should go... my Sentinel stripes should be stripped from my shoulders."  
  
"Wait," Simon interrupted. "You have Sentinel stripes on your shoulders?"  
  
The scathing look bestowed upon him by Jim and Blair were so eerily alike, he shut up.  
  
Blair’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Okay, cough it up." He didn't wait for Jim to 'cough' up anything as he reached up and tapped Jim's chest – hard. "You used the Christmas photo album to replicate everything, didn't you?"  
  
"What did you expect, Sandburg?" Simon couldn't help but interject. "The only thing he doesn't know about you is your computer password, so had no choice but to pull out the album Naomi started for you two. Her 'confliction' must be the type of condition that comes and goes--"  
  
"Like her," Blair finished. "It's a loving condition, so we love her back. And of course, Jim's very – very – _very_ grateful for that album, aren't you?" He punctuated his words with two additional ' taps' on Jim's chest.  
  
"Hey, what's more important here? The how or the why of the decorations – and for that matter, your mother?" Jim asked rather petulantly.  
  
Blair changed the pokes to a gentle, reassuring pat. "You’re right. It doesn't matter how you did it, just that you - and Simon - did it. And you a magnificent job of it too. You even remembered to put the snowmen at the railing upstairs. I'm so proud of you."  
  
"Hey, when Jim Ellison does a job, he does it right."  
  
Simon elbowed him in the ribs. "Yeah, with a little help from--"  
  
"Tonto?" Blair offered helpfully.  
  
"On that insulting note, Sandburg, I'll take my leave. Still have some last-minute shopping to do, not mention adding several additional methods of body disposal to my ever-growing list of **'How to get rid of Ellison and Sandburg Without Anyone the Wiser**.'" Then to take the edge off his words - not that there'd been one, he patted Sandburg on the shoulder. "You take care of yourself. Christmas is just around the corner as is the Sandburg-Ellison party and we want you on your feet and feeling great."  
  
With that, and a final thank you from Sandburg, he left them alone - at last.

* * *

  
  
"Would it be trite to say alone at last?"  
  
"Well," Blair said, "normally I'd say yes, except you took the words right out of my mouth."  
  
They smiled at each other, the kind that if it weren't for the lights, would have lit up the room.  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I missed you?" Jim asked.  
  
"Yes. After all, I'm a very miss-able guy."  
  
"You're slipping, Chief. On a scale 1 to 10 on my 'Blair Sandburg Romantic Response O'Meter', you just hit a -5."  
  
Looking horrified, Blair said, "But you hate mush!" His expression then slipped easily from horror to mischief. "But hey, if it's mush you want, and knowing I have a rep to protect with your so-called, 'response o'meter '," Blair opened his arms wide, "then I missed you th-iiii-s much." Grinning now, he added, "Now that, my friend, was off the scale."  
  
The glint in Blair's eyes was all the invitation Jim needed. Laying his hands on the arms of Blair's wheelchair, he went in for the best, deepest kiss he could come up with – which, considering he was a sentinel, was damn good.

* * *

  
  
Blair was settled comfortably on the couch, propped up by a pillow and Jim. The fireplace gave off a glow of holiday cheer and, with the tree lights shining brightly on all the decorations, Blair not only felt like he was finally home, but that Christmas really was around the corner. Usually Hanukkah and Christmas were intertwined, but not this year. The Jewish holiday ended on the seventh of December, and the criminals of Cascade, not to mention some gunrunners, had kept them too busy since then to do any decorating – until Jim and Simon had thought to do it for him. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the act. Despite Jim's attempts to hide it, he was a generous, thoughtful man. But this…and getting Simon's help? Oh, yeah, he'd been surprised. Very. Decorating just wasn’t a Jim-thing. But maybe…maybe he liked it now?  
  
He felt a little nudge from the generous, thoughtful man, so tilted his head back. "You nudged, Oh Great Decorator?"  
  
"I did. I couldn't help but notice the one spot in the entire living room where your gaze seems continually drawn?"  
  
In a voice as innocent as a saint's might sound, Blair said, "I've no idea _what_ you mean. I'm simply taking in the incredible ambiance you worked tirelessly to create for my homecoming."  
  
Jim nudged him again. "I call bull. You've been looking at every present under the tree, trying to figure out which are yours and what's inside. So, in the best interest of your eyes, most are for or from, friends and family, which means even this sentinel hasn't a clue what's inside any of them, except of course, the ones we purchased for said friends and or family. I guess we'll both just have to wait for Santa to bring ours. Thank goodness we've both been very good boys this year."  
  
"Santa? Suddenly a big believer in The Man, are we?"  
  
"Chief, you might have just turned thirty, but at heart, you're still a twelve-year-old expecting gelt from his mother--"  
  
"Oh, like you don't hold your hand out for that little bag of coins," Blair shot back.  
  
"Hello? They're chocolate. I'm always going to say yes to chocolate."  
  
Blair patted Jim's knee reassuringly. "Sure, sure, my little Santa believer. You just keep telling yourself it's just the chocolate."  
  
Jim knew he'd lost again. Another game of one-upmanship down the tubes. Why he even bothered was beyond him, considering he'd lost that war minutes after he'd let Blair move in with him. How long had he been losing the war? Using his mathematical brilliance, he quickly figured if Sandburg had been twenty-six at the time, and was now thirty, then he'd been losing the war for—maybe he should use his toes to count? In the glow of red, green, white, blue and yellow Christmas lights, Jim smiled. Four years. And while he'd never admit it, he didn’t mind losing one bit. Hell, he’d never even had a chance; not from Blair’s, " _One week, man_ ” to " _Larry and I, we were watching The Wild Bunch, right_?”  
  
Yep, he’d been a goner. He tightened his arm around Blair ever so slightly because this was one war he was very glad he'd lost. Blair gave a large yawn, signaling it might be time to get him upstairs, something that sounded pretty good to Jim, too. "Let's say we hit the sack, Chief."  
  
"As much as I hate to leave the beauty of the living room, the bed’s definitely calling my name."  
  
Now the hard part. He had to watch his partner carefully, in case there were any signs of discomfort, but at the same time, he couldn't let him get all the way to the top because he still had the surprise of the tree. When they were almost at the top, he stopped Blair from going any further. "Okay Chief, close your eyes."  
  
"Do I really need to point out the fact that I'm not in bed yet?"  
  
"Do I really need to point out the fact that I wouldn't ask you to do something if I didn't need you to do it?" Jim shot back, with a grin.  
  
"Wow, Alpha Jim comes out to play. Okay I'm rolling over, playing Beta to your Alpha and closing my eyes."  
  
Because Blair did in fact close eyes, he missed Jim's heaven-directed eye-roll. Probably a good thing because Jim didn't feel like an elbow in the ribs in the middle of another surprise moment.  
He maneuvered Blair to the bed, continually reminding him to keep his eyes shut. After sitting his partner on the bed, he reached for the remote and turned on all the Christmas lights, including the tree’s.  
  
Thanks to the snowmen at the railing, Blair had been unable to see anything else. But now, he’d get the entire effect. He stepped to his left and said, "Okay, you can open them."  
  
"Are you sure?" Blair asked, grinning. "Wouldn't want to catch Santa doing thempmmph—"  
  
Jim's hand over Blair's mouth worked but then he thought…maybe…. He quickly replaced his hand with his mouth. After a several seconds, he pulled away just enough to say against Blair's lips, "Open those baby blues, Chief."  
  
This time, Blair did it – without any witty comeback – and the first thing he saw, thanks to Jim moving slightly to his left, was the tree. The expression on his partner's face was everything – and more - that Jim could’ve hoped to see. He sat down next to him just as Blair spoke.  
  
"Ohmygod... ohmygod…."  
  
That seemed to be the only thing Blair could say as he gazed happily, if somewhat dazedly, around him. He took in the lights trimming the windows, the forest of miniature Christmas trees on the chest, and the wreath on the closet door. Then of course, his gaze returned to the junior Spruce in the corner, white lights threaded perfectly throughout, and the red and gold balls hanging from its branches.  
  
  
  
"Jim—"  
  
"The doctor said you'd have to stay up here for a couple of days," Jim jumped in to keep it from getting too…all right, too mushy. "Actually, his exact words were that he'd prefer you be kept up here for a couple of days - so I thought it might be easier on you if everything looked as nice upstairs as downstairs." He knew he was talking fast, but Blair was totally bowled over; something not easy to do to Sandburg. Surprising him was almost as hard as surprising a Sentinel.  
  
Still staring at the tree, Blair blindly reached out for Jim's hand, who took it and squeezed gently. "I take it you like it?" he asked, voice now low and soft.

 

 

 

 

"Ohmygod," Blair breathed out as he returned the squeeze. His eyes finally made it to the bottom of spruce. "Huh, Jim? There are presents under the tree."  
  
Grinning, Jim pushed Blair gently down, lifted his legs up, propped up the pillows, and said, "Boy, nothing gets by my little junior detective."  
  
The elbow in the ribs he was always trying to avoid hit home, but gently, and was more of a nudge as Blair said in awe and maybe just a touch of censure, "Just tell me they're for show? You know we both have more than Santa has in the entire North Pole – even if we have hidden them from each other. And speaking of hiding…where _have_ you hid mine? I've looked everywhere--"  
  
Jim threatened him with the hand again and laughing, Blair stopped – almost. "Okay, okay, so you're hiding them with…Simon? No, Megan…no, not there, she'd tell me…."  
  
"Sandburg, they're real, so shut up. I figured it'd be fun for Christmas Eve? Save me from the usual, ' _Come on Jim, let's just open one_ ' routine. Which," he quickly added before Sandburg could interrupt, "I always gave in, and we'd inevitably end opening every single present. Which," he went on, "left nothing for Christmas morning. And you know I hate that." He waved a hand at the gifts. "So now you have presents to open Christmas Eve so that peace will reign until Christmas morning when we tear into the ones from Santa."  
  
He might have said more – but the expression on Sandburg's face was on he'd never seen before. "What?" he finally asked.  
  
"Just…wow. And do you realize you've said more words in explaining those presents, then you've said to me at any one time in all our years together?"  
  
Okay, now he had the answer to the expression. Not exactly romantic or particularly holiday-ish, but he figured he had the perfect response; one that would say everything he was feeling. Tugging at a loopy bit of hair stuck behind Blair’s ear, he whispered, "Doofus."

* * *

  
  
Even though the bedroom was decorated as part of Jim's plan to keep Blair upstairs, he quickly discovered in the few days before Christmas Eve and the party, that his plans fell woefully short. Seemed the lack of an upstairs fireplace was the primary complaint. Jim thought it was a pretty weak excuse for demanding to be allowed downstairs, but he was just so glad to have him home, he gave in. Besides, when you're on a nice comfortable couch, with the love of your life holding you in his arms, in front of a small blazing fire, was there that much difference between upstairs and downstairs?  
  
On the other hand, because there were still things to do in preparation for the party, and with Blair downstairs; Jim found himself faced with a tyrannical director – or should that be 'dictator'? It didn’t matter how Jim wanted to do something, Blair had a better suggestion. And using the word ‘suggestion’ was being kind. Who knew Sandburg could give orders like a drill sergeant? If he weren't such a nice guy, and if Blair wasn't so easy on the eyes, Jim might wish his partner back in the hospital – just for these last couple of days. But he _was_ a nice guy who loved his 'easy on the eyes' life-partner to death. Hence, he let Blair tell him what to do - then did whatever he’d been about to do, albeit with a grin on his face.  
  
Now, chores done and wanting Chinese for dinner, but with Blair still very much in drill sergeant mode, he said, as he put the last bag of sliced and diced vegetables in the fridge, "I’m feeling like pizza tonight, Chief. What do you think?”  
  
"Pizza? I don’t know…maybe Chinese?”  
  
Jim grinned as he reached for the Golden Dragon menu in the take-out drawer.

* * *

  
  
As Jim cleaned up the remnants of the Chinese dinner, he wondered why he didn't feel more comfortable, knowing everything was ready for the party. Something was amiss and, being a sentinel who was very attuned to his partner, he thought he knew just what that ‘something’ was, because despite Blair's excitement at being home and his appreciation of the decorations, there was a definite shadow lurking in his eyes. And no, it didn't take a psychiatrist to figure out the cause.  
  
The Volvo.  
  
Even knowing that in a couple of days he’d be helping to remove that darkness with unveiling of the gift across the street, even knowing that didn't alleviate the pain he could feel for his partner. He almost wanted to show him now - but there were three good reasons for not giving in; the primary one being that Blair was supposed to be resting in bed, not traipsing around outside in freezing cold weather in order to see his replacement. Which he'd then want to drive, and every sentinel sense he possessed told him Blair needed the time. Time to reach full strength so he could traipse around in freezing cold weather, see his replacement, then immediately get behind the wheel and drive it wherever he wanted to go.  
  
The second reason was, of course, his promise to save the big reveal for the Christmas Eve party and, finally, the third reason was simply knowing it was all about the right moment - and that moment wasn't tonight; not when Blair was still wincing whenever he changed positions on the couch. Okay, there was also a fourth reason. It was a Christmas present and it wasn’t Christmas yet.  
  
No, the big reveal would happen on schedule. In the meantime, he’d do everything possible to keep Blair's mind off the loss of the Volvo.

* * *

  
  
**Late on Christmas Eve--**  
  
Blair was comfortable on the couch, a hot toddy in hand. They’d finished the party clean-up and now the only proof they’d even had one were the new presents under the tree, all placed there with strict orders not to be opened until Christmas morning. Everyone was long gone – if Jim didn't count Simon. He’d been certain the man would leave with Daryl, but instead had let Megan take him home while he’d stayed behind – ostensibly to help with the cleanup. But based on the evil look in his eyes, Jim knew better. Deciding to put the man out of his misery, he glanced over to make sure Blair couldn’t see him and, satisfied, gave Simon a shrug, then waved, indicating Simon should join him in the kitchen.  
  
His boss was nothing if not subtle. He got up, stretched, then said, "I think I’ll have another hot toddy; one for the road, so to speak.”  
  
Eyes on the tree, Blair nodded and said, "Absolutely, Simon, just make sure it’s a virgin."  
  
Simon, who was already halfway to the kitchen, stopped dead at Blair’s response. Jim could see the indecision, but finally Simon must have decided the Ellison Inquisition was more important than any witty retorts he could have made, because he continued into the kitchen.  
  
Once past the counter, Jim pulled him to the furthest corner but, before he could say anything, Simon whispered, "Do you have any idea how many great retorts I had for that 'virgin' remark?"  
  
"Not so loud, Simon, he’ll hear you.”  
  
"Don’t be ridiculous. You think I don’t know what a sentinel whisper is? Now, why the change up? Daryl was extremely disappointed at not being able to show off his acting skills, not to mention seeing the car. So _why_?”  
  
"I was going to do it while you were all here, I swear. Had it all planned, just as discussed… but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed… the more it felt…. Oh hell, I just wanted it to be a private thing between the two of us. And by the way, I explained things to Daryl but the gang arrived before either of us had a chance to tell you. Then I was playing host with the drinks while Sandburg was doing the food and Daryl was having a great time with Estrella, so he just plain forgot, for which I was very grateful to Morales for bringing her – you know how it is, being a weekend father and all – and by the way, Daryl didn't mind at all once he was introduced to her, so basically there was no chance to pull you over, okay? And really, think how much fun he'll have showing off his new pride and joy at the New Year's Eve party Dad's throwing for Major Crime at his club."  
  
He paused to take a breath at the same moment Simon whispered, "Take a breath, why don’t you?"  
  
A gleam of humor had replaced the less than desirable ‘evil Simon’ look, so Jim could breathe easier. Thank God Simon understood. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Thank you for getting it. So how about that virgin hot toddy now? You know the one,” he added not so subtly, "to send you _home_?"  
  
Giving Jim a rather disgusted look based on that feeble 'clue', Simon let him off the hook by saying, in a normal voice, "Well, I did come in here for just that, but now… since I only stayed behind to help with the clean-up,” he lowered it again to add, "and so I could kick your butt for not sharing the reveal," his voice went back up again, "I'm going to say good night and take my tired body home. I’m sure Daryl’s still up, trying to decide which single present I’ll let him open tonight."  
  
Full of gratitude, Jim smiled. "Wish Daryl a Merry Christmas for us, and the bag with your haul is next to the key stand.” Then he couldn’t help but add, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."  
  
One dark eyebrow rose at that, but Simon, ever the gentleman, simply stuck his tongue out as they moved back into the living room, at which time Simon whispered loudly, "Something tells me you two want to be alone, although for the life of me, I can't understand why."  
  
Jim would have sworn to anyone who asked, that the word ‘impish’ was one he’d never have used to describe an expression of Simon’s. And yet he was looking at just such an expression now. Yep, it was impish with soupçon of devilish humor. Jim looked over at Sandburg, who was getting to his feet, having heard Simon’s ‘stage whisper’. Jim pointed at the couch and ordered, "Sit.”  
  
Blair grinned. "You’re kidding, right? I look like a dog to you, do I?”  
  
"If you won’t listen to him, maybe you’ll listen to me?” Simon asked pleasantly. Too pleasantly.  
  
Blair sat down.  
  
"Yes, well, maybe you should move in with us, Simon? He never does what I tell him to.”  
  
"You’re not my boss,” Blair answered for Simon. "Now, let’s do this together, shall we? On the count of three, we’ll end this endless goodbye by saying, ‘ _Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night_.” He held up a hand and waved his index finger in the air. "Ready, gentlemen?”  
  
What could either of them do or say, but nod? After so many years with Sandburg in their lives, they’d long ago admitted – if only to each other – he was the alpha.  
  
Another finger joined the first, and finally the third, at which point, all three men said in perfect – and miraculous – unison, "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

* * *

  
  
Jim glanced around their living room and had to admit it looked both festive and romantic. He lit a few candles, checked the fireplace – in a way Blair would call obsessive – and finally the tree lights. Yep, perfect. Totally satisfied, he joined his partner on the couch, after lifting his legs and then replacing them on his own lap. "Great party, huh?"  
  
Blair favored him with a very contented grin. "Best ever, man. Absolutely."  
  
Suddenly, thanks to his partner’s words, the answer to how he’d get him downstairs, came to him. He’d been waffling between revealing the car tonight; Christmas Eve, or Christmas morning and he now knew both the when and the how. He patted Blair’s leg. " Best ever, eh? I’ve got a feeling we could make it even better."  
  
Blair, who’d turned his attention back to the tree, said, "Don't tell me you're planning next year's party already?"  
  
"No way. But I am talking about finishing off tonight's party with a little romantic stroll outside in the snow. Snow which Santa very thoughtfully provided this Christmas Eve. Which you’ve got to admit was very nice of him."  
  
"Can't argue with that. We haven't had a white Christmas in quite a few years."  
  
Jim got up from under Blair’s legs, then patted them as he stood. "You stay right here while I get all the necessary warmth for a trek in the Christmas Eve moonlight."  
  
"For crying out loud, I'm fine now, all better and can get my own 'necessary warmth', okay?"  
  
"Ah, I guess that's why you let Simon and me do the cleanup?"  
  
"You fell for it, didn’t you? Man, you’re both so easy.”  
  
Laughing, Jim said, "Message received, love of my life. Let's go."  
  
A few minutes later, dressed for the weather, they headed for the elevator. Once downstairs and outside, they had to stop and catch their breaths - their street had never looked more beautiful. Almost every building was decorated, lights bright and shining, sending a rainbow of colors over the fresh snow. And to top it off, there was that beautiful, full, Christmas Eve moon.  
  
"Oh, man," Blair whispered, "it's magical, Jim."

 

 

 

  
All Jim could do was nod as his sentinel senses took in everything in a way he wished could be shared with Blair. They enjoyed the view for a few moments, but Jim had a job to do; he had to get Blair to the garage and the script had been in his head for days, even if the 'when' of it hadn’t been as certain. Trying to look as if he’d just remembered something, he said, "Heck, I just remembered something, Chief. Dave, you know, across the street? He asked me to check something in his garage while they're away for the holiday. If we’re out, would you mind if we strolled over there; get it out of the way?"  
  
Blair was still so awe-struck by the beauty around him that he acquiesced without even thinking about it. Jim steered him to the garage, then fished the key out of his pocket. Once unlocked, he rolled the door up, showing the covered lump that represented his Christmas present to Blair.  
  
Sandburg, seeing it, asked, "Hey, I thought Dave drove to Vancouver? Did he change his mind?"  
  
"Actually, that's what he wanted me to check on."  
  
Giving Jim a strange look, he asked, "What, he was afraid his car would drive away on its own or something?"  
  
"Actually," Jim said as he walked over and placed his hand on the tarp, "he knows it's going to be driven away – by you." He managed to get the tarp off just as the word ‘ _you_ came out. And there it was, the twin to Blair’s beloved gray, 1962 convertible Corvair, ruined by Alex so long ago. There were more than enough Christmas lights to penetrate the gloom of the garage, making the classic car almost ethereal-looking. Jim glanced over at his partner, whose eyes had grown impossibly round.  
  
"It's my Corvair," he finally said in a soft voice full of awe and disbelief.  
  
"Yep, Chief, yours. Your new – old – car." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out another key which he dangled from his fingers. "Merry Christmas, babe." He then held them out to Blair.  
  
Eyes glued to the beauty before him, Blair reached blindly out, knowing Jim would put the key in his hand. When he felt the metal, he grabbed it and walked slowly around to the driver's side, taking in every inch of the glory that was his new car. "Jim, I can't believe you did this." He ran a hand lovingly across the side of the driver's door. "I'm not going to ask where you found it, because you're a miracle man, but I am going to ask a favor." He finally took his eyes off the car to look at Jim. "Remember when we were inspecting Jack's car in the garage and you ran my hand over the door?"  
  
Jim nodded, wondering where the heck this was going.  
  
"That moment, when you took my hand? That’s when I knew.” At Jim’s puzzled expression, he added softly, "That’s when I knew I loved you.” He smiled invitingly, "Care to repeat it?"  
  
Without a word, Jim walked around, came up behind him, took his hand and placed it gently on top of the driver's door. He then ran their hands slowly across the same surface Blair had just touched. The closeness of that single act seemed to create one person; as if they were each part of the other. Still, Jim found he needed more. He turned Blair around and said, "Make me a promise, Chief."  
  
"Don't worry, Jim, I'll never leave."  
  
Jim wasn't a bit surprised Blair had known what he’d been about to ask. He leaned down until their lips barely touched – and felt Sandburg's grin just before Blair mumbled against his, "And this is where it fades to black."  
  
Epilog:  
  
Neighbors on Prospect Avenue who were in the middle of enjoying their Christmas Eve were interrupted by the sound of a car motor revving up. A few were curious enough to look out their windows just in time to see a gorgeous Corvair take off down the street. But the strange part was how, despite the unseasonably cold weather, the top was down. A few recognized Jim and Blair so simply shook their heads knowingly before going back to enjoying their own Christmas Eve.

 

 

 


End file.
